This Divided Man
by Ariathel
Summary: Sam was never meant to say yes to Lucifer, and using Adam was cheating.  Team Free Will has another chance to fix the apocalypse, if they can just understand what they have to do.  Sam/female!Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, BAU.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: AU post-Swan Song. I try my hardest to stick to previous canon, but I'm not stressing it. Ellen and Jo never died. Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck

Summary: Sam was never meant to say yes to Lucifer, and using Adam was cheating. Team Free Will has another chance to fix the apocalypse, if they can just understand what they have to do.

More AN: Editing for format, because I always forget that fanfiction net hates me.

* * *

><p>Sam sat up, gingerly. The memory of burning darkness and intense pain sucked his breath from his lungs, forcing him to take a moment to regain his bearings and realize that, no, he wasn't being torn apart in Hell, he was surrounded by darkened shops and quiet streets, very much alive and still on planet Earth. Smoke billowed from a few wrecked cars, and trash littered the sidewalks.<p>

A light breeze rustled papers, and Sam realized he was utterly alone. The sun was high overhead, cheerful and bright in an almost mocking sort of way. The end of the world should have been heralded with storm clouds and thunder.

Rule number one, Sam thought, after checking the waistband of his pants. He needed a weapon. It only took a few moments to identify a Wal-Mart, and Sam thanked his good luck, before staggering through the doors. Wal-mart weapons would suffice until he could raid a gun shop. The creepiness factor increased ten-fold, now that he was out of the sun into an unlit building. Not even the generator lights were on. Shadows danced near the doorway, before fading into pitch black darkness. Sam glanced back outside, before sliding sideways, keeping the wall at his back, until he could sink into shadows.

His heart pounded in his throat as he waited, just watching. He had no idea what could be out there. And so, just when the hair on his neck was surely standing straight up, he drew a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to slow, and then waited some more. He pushed back the doubts – was this Hell? Was this wasteland some sick creation of his mind, or someone else's?

While his eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of life, he mentally made a list of priorities. First and foremost he needed weapons, and possibly a map. Spray paint, flashlights, batteries, lighters, and salt. Food, and water, he tacked on. Clothes. He had no idea when his next chance would be to stop, and he would need every necessity available. While this shopping spree was far from ideal, he stood an even poorer chance, '_Against what?'_ if he needed to make multiple stops for supplies, and he already knew he would need at least one for proper guns.

And so, after what he guessed to be about thirty minutes of waiting, he inched forward. Carts were too noisy, but there was a stack of handheld baskets he could use. His primary target was the gun case. Sam closed his eyes, and brought forth every Wal-Mart he'd ever been to. Weapons tended to be kept in the back, as well as most of his necessary supplies. He saw that this store held the clothes first, so logic would dictate that the right side of the store held food and toiletries, while the back would hold electronics and DIY merchandise.

Grabbing a basket, Sam crept forward.

It took what must have been two hours, creeping around, trying to discern noises over the sounds of his own fear, but Sam felt a low stab of pride at the array by the front door, hidden just behind a register. If there were any other survivors, logic would dictate that they would come here eventually, and he didn't want to advertise that he was nosing around. The weapons section had been positively cleaned out, now split between the space under a register and tucked into Sam's clothes.

Next order of business was finding a vehicle that wasn't wrecked, and hopefully had gas. He found a hose, and managed to cut just enough to siphon fuel with. If the power was out across the board, then gas stations were useless.

Sam slipped back outside. He was thankful it was the dead of summer, giving him a few more hours of daylight to get moving. A few quick movements, and Sam was the proud owner of a tan car, luckily pulling a pair of keys from the purse that had been dropped haphazardly on the driver's seat.

_ What the hell happened here? Did everyone just… disappear, in the middle of their day?_

It only took a minute to load himself up, before hopping in and yanking out the maps he'd found. The first one, a state map, let him know he was in Virginia. He found a few maps of various counties, and guessed that he was somewhere west of Washington D.C., though without any identifiable streets, it was really just a wild guess. And so he yanked out the map of the country, and began detailing his way to the only place he knew to go. Bobby's.

* * *

><p>The drive west had been eerie. This SUV contained an iPod, but after a moment's reflection, Sam decided it was too morbid to listen to music. A few empty cars littered the highways, but otherwise, he was alone. There were no Croates, but no humans either. Nothing. Somehow, not even Coldplay was comforting right now.<p>

"Heya, Samsquatch."

It took every single ounce of control to not wreck the vehicle then and there, though he did slam his foot on the brakes. A quick glance to his side revealed a brunette female, and Sam almost flung himself out of his still moving car, not knowing what she was, but deciding to take his chances with the asphalt.

"Whoa there, buddy, slow it down. It's me, Gabriel."

The brunette's hand came up to rub against her forehead, as though easing a headache. The car finally screeched to a stop, and Sam jumped out, grabbing the gun that was tucked into the waist of his pants. She just stared at him, half amused, half irritated.

"Yeah, before you go postal on my ass, Gabriel the Archangel. Loki. The trickster. Want further proof? I trapped you in a time loop for the equivalent of almost… ten months." She at least had the decency to look chagrined. "I joined Team Free Will, blah, blah, blah, Lucifer stabbed me, blah, blah, blah. What else do you want to know? I really want to prove who I am, and get the hell moving again, okay?"

Sam just stared. "How did you survive?"

"I didn't. Dead, as in ding-dong, poof, although the light at the end of the tunnel was not much of a light so much as a spark. It sucked. Then, boom, I'm back in my body. I figure, if Dad's giving me a second chance, why waste it? I screwed around, had some fun, and then BAM! I'm blasted to who the hell knows where, stuck in this damn body… I wasted all the grace I had left just trying to find you. This is _not_ my idea of fun!"

She was on the verge of a full-fledged temper tantrum by this point, and Sam slowly inched forward, lowering his weapon, but still unwilling to tuck it away. Not yet.

"So… you came back from the dead, went on a gender-bending spree, and now…"

"I found you!"

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, a smirk graced her lips, and Sam put his gun away as he slid back into the driver's seat.

"So, any idea what's going on?"

"Nope!"

"You heard anything about Cas, Dean, or Bobby?"

"Not a peep."

"Fine, what about Lucifer, or Michael?"

"Nada."

"You know _anything_?"

"Uh-uh."

"Fat lot of good you're turning out to be," Sam muttered.

"Oh, honey, don't be like that," she purred, and it was so wrong, Sam felt the breath choke in his throat. He was tempted to laugh. "So, where are we headed, Sammikins?"

Sam counted to ten. Twice. "Bobby's."

She nodded, before making a shooing motion with her hands. "Mush!"

* * *

><p>"Wait, how <em>did<em> you find me?" Sam asked suddenly, breaking the silence as the vehicle bumpily drove its way through the grass next to what must have been rush hour traffic. "Cas put the sigils on our ribs. You shouldn't have been able to find me."

Gabriel shrugged, not even bothering to look away from whatever fascinated her out the window.

"Lucifer must have erased them when he wore your body."

Sam shuddered, and found himself unable to ask any more questions about it.

They spent the next thirty minutes in utter silence. Sam didn't know enough about the archangel to discern her body language, but he felt like she was getting agitated, though there wasn't any activity out of the norm that should've set her off.

"So what are you doing here?"

She turned to him, corners of her mouth turned down in a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you hid yourself after you came back to life. Why bother to find me at all?" Sam couldn't bring himself to voice the _'Why didn't you come help us?'_

Gabriel's brows furrowed.

"I just gave _my life_ for a fight that wasn't even mine," she retorted, and the temperature in the car dipped. "I stood up to my _brother_ for you, and he _killed_ me. That's what happens when people help you, Winchester. They die. Excuse me for not running open armed back into that shit."

"You're not a person," he pointed out, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. It was juvenile, but right now, the only thing burning in his mind was just how much he hated the stupid creature seated next to him.

"Exactly! Not even a fucking _archangel_ gets out of your mess alive."

"This mess might not have even been _here_ if _your_ family had left us alone!"

"Oh, boo fucking hoo. Just because they're my family doesn't make them my responsibility." Gabriel was clenching her hand around the door handle, the other fisted in her lap. Sam could _hear_ the way her teeth ground together, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

"Well they're yours more than they ever were ours! And don't give me any of that destiny bullshit-"

"No, you listen the fuck up," Gabriel breathed. "You could have ignored it. You and Dean and my _stupid_ little brother kept moving along, spending your whole time walking the line they drew for you. You can't choose humanity and not get involved in the fight. There was a choice, you made it, deal with the consequences."

Sam slowly forced his fingers to loosen on the wheel.

"So what are you doing here if you don't want to help us?"

"Fuck you, Sam."

Her avoidance of the question was punctuated by the fact that she didn't leave.

* * *

><p>The car ride was a bit less disturbing with company, though he couldn't call it easy, especially after their fight. Sam drove for a few hours more, though he only made it just over the Appalachian Mountains and into West Virginia, having been rerouted twice by accidents blocking the entire road. Gabriel claimed her angel mojo wasn't working right, and until they knew what was going on, both tersely agreed it was better to keep her hidden.<p>

Just as the sun dipped down to the horizon, Sam decided to find a place to stay to hole up for the night. While everything in him wanted to make it to Sioux Falls, he wasn't comfortable driving after the sun set.

"You going to need to sleep?" he asked quietly.

"Doubt it. I may not be at my full archangel best, but I'm still an angel. Can't wait for something to eat, though." With that, she was munching on a bag of M&M's, silently offering Sam a few. He hesitated a second, before dipping his hand in.

"Can I trust you?"

She paused, Sam carefully not looking to see if she was pensive or offended as he scanned the dark signs, looking for an exit with a hotel. He really didn't want to fight some more.

"What do you think?" It was laced with such disdain and sarcasm, Sam wanted to roll his eyes.

"I think it doesn't matter. You're apparently coming along for the ride. You can't mojo us to Bobby's, and I won't make it through the night without sleep. So, I guess the answer is yes. Not that I can… but I will."

"There's the Team Free Will spirit!"

Sam decided that the archangel next to him was psychotic.

* * *

><p>Reid heard muttering. Low voices were all around him, urgent and vaguely frightened. His team had been stranded here for the past few weeks in West Virginia, while the world went to hell around them. At every turn, innocent civilians all began to suffer a deep psychosis, attacking each other with a rabid hunger that he would've expected from a zombie movie.<p>

"Reid, man, you awake?"

Reid slowly opened his eyes and focused on Morgan's worried face above him. The team had given up trying to get to their jet, to get home, and had simply holed up in the hotel, trying their hardest to plan. They had finally reached the consensus to drive home, before everything had fallen silent, and then a force like a shockwave tore through the team and sent everybody flying.

"Reid, get up."

He sat up dizzily, before surveying the faces around him. Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan. He tried not to think of the rest of the team. The ravenous looks on their faces as the psychosis took hold of them would most likely haunt him for the rest of his life.

It was dark in the room, and Reid could tell it was nearly nighttime outside. Before they could speak, however, the sound of tires on gravel drew everyone's undivided attention. Like clockwork, they fell silent, and all weapons were withdrawn, ready to fire.

The vehicle stopped moving, and then there was silence. "Well, those – zombies – couldn't drive, right? It's got to be another sur-person," Garcia stuttered. Hotch put a finger to his lips, before motioning to the door, and was met with raised weapons, all waiting for his signal. It was a small comfort, to fall back on such familiarities as this.

He slipped the door open, gun parallel to the ground, and stepped forward, while the rest of the team melded back into the shadows, watching.

In the darkness, it took nearly a full heartbeat to recognize the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Who's there?" came a deep voice, male.

"We're the FBI, who are you?"

A short, half insane laugh sounded out. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." A second's hesitation later, he followed up with, "Our names are Sam and Gabriel."

* * *

><p>It had been a split second decision, and Sam hoped he didn't regret it. While it was dangerous, to make himself known to armed civilians, especially ones that could recognize him, he trusted Gabriel to have his back. Croates wouldn't be speaking to him quite so civilly; they'd be attempting to gnaw on his limbs. Demons would have most likely attacked the moment they sensed Gabriel's presence, and few other creatures could fake full-on human.<p>

When no response came, he held up his gun. Though it was almost fully dark out, there was still a bright light from the full moon, and he knew they would see him.

"I'm not… infected. I'm assuming that you're not either. Survivors? We're coming in, don't shoot us."

Every instinct screamed at him to shut up, to move on, leave these people. He couldn't handle civilians, not now. Leaving them to whatever could be outside, though, wasn't something he was capable of. Even if he hadn't seen a single Croat, or demon, or even a stray damn dog, he was still on edge, waiting.

"I don't…"

Sam shook his head, understanding the man's confusion. "Look, you're scared, I understand. You have no idea who we are, and you want to shoot on sight. The fact that you're FBI, though, means you won't. I'm going to take advantage of that. There's clearly more than one of you, and I know you're all armed. We're outnumbered, so you have the upper hand in this situation."

* * *

><p>"Well, when he puts it so nicely," Garcia muttered.<p>

"Man, I do not like this," Morgan said, his gun still aimed at the newcomer. His entire body was tense, and it took every ounce of control not to just shoot the man. He couldn't find any shape that would represent this Gabriel, though he assumed the second would still be in the vehicle.

"Come in."

Hotch, the leader-by-default, turned and lowered his weapon a bit. The shadowy figure stepped up to the cement pathway in front of their door, just as the car door opened behind him. "The power's out, obviously, don't know if it's nationwide yet. Gabriel, will you grab the lanterns and flashlights?"

* * *

><p>Sam was putting everything on the line here. These people were clearly terrified stiff, and he couldn't blame them. He didn't trust them, and they didn't trust him, if the moonlight glinting off one of their weapons was any indication. However, his instincts told him that they were vulnerable like this, and leaving them would most likely mean their death. FBI was skilled enough to survive a while, but in this apocalyptic fallout, they would be in over their heads once the demons and angels came out to play.<p>

He could feel Gabriel's eyes on the back of his head as she followed quietly, for the first time in Sam's life. He vowed to tease her about it later.

The man in the doorway stepped back, revealing a dark blackness that he couldn't see into. Sam could see his gun held loosely in his hand, not pointed at him, but ready for anything.

"Hotch," a voice called out a warning.

"Stand down," the man in the doorway stated. He was clearly in charge. Sam extended a hand.

"Like I said, Sam Campbell. You are?" He wasn't taking any chances that they would recognize him as Sam Winchester and shoot on sight.

A warm hand gripped his. "Aaron Hotchner."

Sam slipped in past him, followed by Gabriel, her hand at his back, clearly following him. It took only a few moments to strike up the lights, and then he was able to take stock of the situation. There were three other figures besides the ones he already knew. A black man, finger still on the trigger. A tall, lanky kid, his own weapon resting easily in his lap, and a blonde who looked like she would just as soon accidentally shoot herself in the foot.

"Gabriel Novak," he motioned to the archangel, pulling out the first surname he could think of.

"Aww, Samsquatch," she muttered. "Really?"

He bit back a retort, before turning to the others.

"Morgan."

"Doctor Spencer Reid."

"Penelope Garcia. I mean, Garcia. I…"

He smiled a bit.

"All right, guys. Introductions done, let's get to the good part of this evening. We're all clearly survivors. Gabriel and I are on the road, trying to head back home, and find our families. You said you're FBI, all of you?"

"Yes."

Sam briefly nodded his thanks to Aaron.

"We all don't trust each other, and with good reason. It's been hell on earth out there, literally."

"In more ways than one!" Gabriel piped up, apparently having found her voice again.

"Gabriel," he growled. "Will you please shut up? Anyway, I'm assuming you have no idea what's going on. I don't know how to explain-"

"Seriously?" Gabriel interrupted him impatiently. "How about we do this shit my way, 'cause I'm not in the mood for a slow death by Sam-talk." She was all business as she stood up straighter, and reached for her side. It took less than the blink of an eye before Morgan and Hotch's guns were trained on Gabriel, Sam's on Morgan, and Reid's on him. Garcia took a moment to raise hers, before looking around wildly and dropping it on the bed with a huff.

"I would not advise pulling the trigger," Gabriel snarled, her face contorted enough to frighten even Sam. "I guarantee I won't like that. You shoot me, you just piss me off. You shoot Sammy here; you piss me off even more. You _really_ don't want to do that."

A second passed, then two. Nobody moved.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

She snapped her fingers, and all the FBI's weapons disappeared. Sam lowered his still intact gun as the men all went for their belts, clearly expecting to find another there, but sorely disappointed.

"Now, like I said, we're going to do this shit _my _way. Before I was so rudely interrupted…" She pulled out a bag of Skittles from her pocket. "What you had out there is the apocalypse, or some pathetic imitation of it. Heaven, hell, the whole she-bang. You have a wasteland called planet Earth. There are maybe a few thousand survivors scattered across the globe, I would guess, after that fallout. On this planet, there are probably a handful of people who can protect you, Sam here being one of them." He felt a slow burn of something he didn't want to identify at that.

"Questions?"

"I'd like to know what you did with our weapons," Aaron intoned, clearly holding back the edge that shouted _fuck you_.

"I took them. Like I said, if you shoot me, Sam and I will just leave. You'll die, once we leave. What's out there, it ain't pretty. It'll wear your meat suit and use your hands to slit your own throat, just because it can. Comprende?"

* * *

><p>Hotch's mind reeled. He needed to take control of this situation, but it had spiraled so far beyond his capabilities that he didn't know where to begin. Pushing the vanishing weapons out of his mind for the moment, he focused on the two standing near the window, looking like the calm at the center of the storm. He didn't know if he should be afraid of their delusions regarding what was occurring outside, or afraid of himself for hoping they could explain this, because he couldn't.<p>

It wasn't apparent which person was the dominant of the two, though both seemed leaders in their own way. The female was flighty, playful, and angry, rapidly switching between dichotomies without warning. The male was reserved, careful. He understood the danger, while she didn't seem to care one way or another. Aaron stopped himself before further profiling them like suspects.

"You're not Sam Campbell," Reid suddenly stuttered out. "I mean, you're Sam Winchester. I knew I recognized your face. We profiled you and your brother."

Sam had decency to look chagrined, before turning to Gabriel with what looked to be an apology in his eyes.

"Sam Winchester? As in… one of the FBI's most wanted, Sam Winchester."

Sam sagged. He clearly knew he'd been caught, though Hotch had to laugh at the irony of that. Wouldn't Henrikson be rolling over in his grave if he could see this turn of events? The end of the world and Sam Winchester shows up on their figurative doorstep. _I really could use my gun._

"Yeah, all right, I'm Sam Winchester. Since you guys can't shoot me, you can't really arrest me, there's no point in lying."

"Sammy, how is it that, of all the Dad forsaken monkeys on this planet, you have to run into the ones that know you? Wait, _how_ in the hell do they know you?"

Sam elbowed Gabriel.

"Because Dean and I ran into some trouble, a few times. More than a few, actually. Most of this was before we had Cas to help us out, back when were just hunting small fish. The FBI thinks we're a bunch of murderers or something."

Gabriel choked, snorted, and then laughed. The brunette gripped her sides and completely doubled over, before scrubbing at her eyes and sucking in air, continuing her hysteria. Sam's scowl deepened, before he reached over and smacked her in the arm.

"This shit isn't funny, Gabriel."

"Oh man, this is ten steps _beyond_ funny! And you've got to admit it, I know funny." She straightened, occasionally chuckling.

"I'm glad I could be a continual source of amusement, want me to start pulling rabbits from a hat?" Sam deadpanned.

"All right, this is bullshit," Morgan suddenly bit out. "What the fuck is going on here? You're a fugitive, and supposedly dead. I'm assuming your brother's waiting outside, ready to what, skin us alive like those women in St. Louis?"

At the mention of Dean, Sam sobered up.

"No. I don't know where my brother is. I'm heading to the one place he'd think to meet up with me." And hoping he was still _alive_.

"And you know what's going on outside?"

"Morgan," Hotch finally broke in.

"No, Hotch, this is out of control. We have a wanted man in our hotel room, a girl who can apparently steal all our weapons in a second, and twenty four hours ago, we were running away from god damned _zombies!_"

"They're not zombies," Sam muttered. "They look like it, but it's called the Croatoan virus. Does essentially the same thing, though. They're all gone now. Whatever did this… well, they all disappeared. Not much living around here besides us, I'd guess."

Garcia cleared her throat. "How do you know all this? I mean all of… what ever happened."

"Because, I'm a hunter. My entire life has been spent fighting monsters; things that most people don't know exist."

"Your militant upbringing," Reid interjected. "After your mother's-" His voice broke off, a second too late.

Sam closed his eyes.

"My mother was killed when I was six months old. My father, my brother, and I packed up, and spent our lives on the road, doing just this kind of stuff. Saving people, hunting things, the good fight." The bitterness in his voice was plain to the whole room.

"Stanford?"

"I wanted out. I was tired of motels, and changing schools, and spending my life looking for the evil in the world. You're FBI; you gotta understand what I'm saying. Only you chose your life, hunting bad people. I was _born_ into my life, hunting bad _things_. I was eight when I first learned that monsters were real."

His words struck a chord through the group, and Hotch could feel his team's eyes on him.

"My first instinct is to label you delusional, to persuade you to stand down, and accept mental help. Monsters aren't real. I've read your file, thoroughly, I profiled you and your brother for Agent Henrikson. Vigilantes, with a delusion that you're ridding the world of evil, when in reality, you're just killing innocent people. However, given what I've seen with my own eyes, there's clearly something… not normal out there." Sam snorted. "There doesn't appear to be any way to get you help, or to find out the extent to your psychosis versus what might be reality. I don't know if I should politely request that you return our weapons and leave, or to throw my entire life's work out the window and trust you."

Morgan's gaze pierced his skull; he could _feel_ the disapproval there. Reid was deep in thought, and Garcia… poor Garcia just looked curious.

"You have to make up your minds about that," Sam replied. "I think this night is over. There's not much left to explain. I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm going to do some things that will protect you overnight. You have until morning to decide where you stand."

Hotch watched as the man drew several intricate circular designs on the floor in various places, before standing, and handing them a bunch of… salt shakers?

"Pour this across the window sill and doorways and underneath any air vents or cracks into the room. Make sure it is a complete and unbroken line, and do _not_, under any circumstances, break it, you hear me? Anything, I mean _anything_, goes bump in the night, you scream. I'll be right through that wall, next door."

The two left without much more to say.

* * *

><p>"Hotch, what the hell was all of that? Politely request and <em>leave<em>?"

Morgan's temper was rapidly spiraling out of control, and Hotch held up a hand to stave off the explosion.

"Morgan, think about this objectively. There is no _logical_ way to explain what happened to the people around us. If this Winchester kid is _right_, then think about his file. Think about all the crimes he's tied to, and his brother. What kind of things out there could do what we blamed them for?"

Morgan groaned.

"I don't know, Hotch, but you're considering trusting a wanted murderer. His brother… the pictures of how he skinned those women…" His voice trailed away, horror registering on his face, when he realized what Hotch was trying to explain. If the brothers didn't do that, then _what_ did?

"I don't think he was lying," Garcia said, throwing her lot into this group. While she was clearly out of her element, she still was a part of this team, and wanted to make sure she felt like it. "And what that Gabriel girl did? She didn't move fast enough, at all, to steal all our weapons. I mean Hotch, she took the one strapped to your ankle."

"She would have had to move at a speed of damn near two million miles per hour to go undetected by the human eye," Reid said quietly. "Significantly less if we all blinked at once, giving her under a quarter of a second to perform all the thefts, but still faster than any technology that exists today, let alone beyond the capabilities of the human body."

"So, magic. Great."

They fell into silence, and Hotch shifted from his position on the chair.

"So, now it comes down to this. There is some element of truth to what Sam is saying, though we don't know how much. Is Sam one of the good guys, and will he really protect us, or is he one of the bad guys? And can we survive this on our own?"

Silence met his questions, and stretched on.

"I can't get past the profile," Morgan said, stretching back into the headboard of his bed. "I can't see him as a good guy."

"I do." Morgan shot Reid a dirty look, while the younger man just shrugged. "I've seen liars, I've seen really convincing liars, and I've seen honest men. While he looked worried, his mannerisms did not belie guilt, or any attempts to conceal facts that would intentionally harm us. He admitted to who he was, and pleaded with us to look past that out of genuine concern for our safety. If he was truly a murderer, he could have killed us then and there without repercussion. He seems to want to protect us, though what from is the more troubling mystery."

"I think he's a good guy." This time, Garcia was on the end of a look that was half incredulous and half hurt. "I… I know I'm not a profiler, or anything, and I don't think you would toss my opinion out the window for that. His friend seemed kind of freaky, but he just seemed honest."

They all looked to Hotch.

"Get some sleep," he decided, though in his heart, he already knew his answer. There was nothing left in Virginia.


	2. Chapter 1, part 2

AN: This is the second half of chapter 1, from Dean. Also... I kind of need a beta. Anyone want to volunteer? Preferably someone who's good with dialogue, prodding bad authors to write more, and who knows both the BAU team as well as Winchesters & co.

Dean's first thoughts, when he woke up, were a jumble of _Sam – Lucifer – Cas – Bobby._ He sat up, head flying in every which direction, looking for anyone. He was still in the graveyard, a few indistinct clouds casting soft shadows over his eyes. He gently probed his face as he stood, checking for the injuries that ached just seconds ago.

The chasm in the ground had been closed, and his heart thudded painfully as he stared at the place where his brother had – he forced that train of thought away, unable to think about, even now, what Sam must be going through.

"Dean," came a low voice – Cas.

"Oh, God, Cas!" He rushed over to where the angel lie, splayed out on the ground, trench coat rumbled and stupid blue tie flipped over his shoulder. He struggled to push himself into a sitting position, blinking gently.

Dean couldn't get any words out around the lump in his throat – his thoughts a jumble of pain and relief and guilt. Cas was alive – _Bobby's dead_ – Cas wasn't still a smear of ground up vessel on the ground – _Sam._

Cas stood shakily, and Dean took the opportunity to look around – Bobby still lay there, head twisted at an unnatural angle, and Dean's stomach flipped, before he bent over, retching and trying to hide the buildup of tears. The angel strode to the prone body, touching two fingers to his forehead, and with a sickening crunch, Bobby's head turned, his mouth opening in a gasp as his chest inflated with air.

"Bobby!"

He rushed to kneel at the old man's side, taking note of the bewildered way he glanced around, allowing Dean to hover for a few precious seconds before pushing him away and standing on his own two feet.

"Sam?"

Dean tossed his shoulder, unable to look. Castiel strode over to the grassy expanse, frowning as he crossed over it, back and forth, before bending to pick up the four horsemen's rings. A loud groan came from just beyond several more graves, and as one, the three turned to look, taking in the very much alive form of Adam, sitting up and pressing the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean choked out, striding forward, barely noticing when Castiel gripped his arm painfully.

"He is not Michael," the angel ground out, cocking his head. Dean didn't care, all he could see was that _face_, the one so willing to betray humanity, his _blood_, for what?

"The hell is going on here? If he's here, where's Sam?" Bobby asked, striding over to help the young man up. Adam was still clutching his head, bending over at the waist.

Castiel frowned. "Dean, do not harm him. This is… not natural."

"No shit, Sherlock! I'm going to fucking _ruin_ him!"

"Oh, screw you," Adam shot back, finally catching up with current events. "In case you didn't notice, _I don't give two shits about you_."

"Don't start this shit, you two-" Bobby started, before being cut off by the elder Winchester.

"Yeah? Well I'm going to make sure you spend the rest of your short life regretting that! _Everything_ we did, and you were willing to destroy this _planet_, because you're too much of a _pussy_! My _brother_ is dead, stuck somewhere in Hell, with the goddamn _Devil!_" Dean was raging, shouting over Bobby's recriminations, Adam's pathetic sputtering, struggling with what little strength he had left to get out of Castiel's still-bruising grip. Words poured from his mouth, and every bit of despair he felt was zeroed in on the struggling form of his half-brother, both men vying for a chance to take out their frustration and anger and hatred on each other.

Adam opened his mouth to snap something back, before Castiel held up his hand. "_Silence!"_

His head was no longer tilted toward the ground, and he swallowed thickly in the moments following.

"Lucifer and Michael are not here."

Dean whirled on the man, his arm twisting painfully. "No shit, they're _in Hell_."

"No, I mean…" he held a hand to his forehead, long fingers massaging away an ache. "It is as if the two are gone. I would be able to feel them. Even in Hell, Michael would still be a part of the choir, and he is not. Lucifer has a strong presence, and standing on this gate, I should be able to feel them. Their graces burn too brightly to leave no trace of their activities."

"Then where are they? _Where is Sam?_" Dean was sucking in air, trying to understand just what the angel was trying to say.

"I do not know. The sigils on Sam's ribs prevent me from finding…"

Castiel stood stock still, and Dean felt, for the briefest moment, the press of fingers on his arm disappear. It was only a fraction of a second, but the bright blue gaze pierced Dean's own, in that painfully direct way that Dean always looked down from.

"Sam is alive. I cannot-"

"Where is he." Dean enunciated each word, jaw clenched and nails digging into his palms.

"I do not know. There is a startling lack of life in this area, and Sam's soul was easy to sense. The sigils should blind me from him, but they appear to have been removed. I cannot locate him, not with any precision. Something is blocking me."

Dean sank to his knees, Castiel finally releasing him. Blood rushed back to his numb fingertips as he clutched a hand to his chest, heart tap dancing a rhythm his body wasn't used to. _Sam was alive_. Whatever the fuck happened, whatever came next, his brother was _still here_.

In that moment, Dean offered up a silent prayer, the barest whisper of thanks to a god he wasn't sure existed.

"We must leave this place. I am unsure as to what this means, but once the Host finds out, they will be here to investigate. I fear we will not survive that encounter."

He hauled Dean to his feet, while Bobby man-handled the still muttering young man.

"Listen, you little shit," Dean snapped out. "You can stay here for all I care. You wanted this so badly, go ahead and sit here, wait for the angels to come and send you back to wherever you came from."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Dean, shut _up_. We are _not_ leaving this boy here to deal with your douchebag friends."

Dean bared his teeth at Bobby, stumbling as Castiel dragged him over a bump in the ground. He finally turned, snarling at Castiel, before he was manhandled into the car. The rest piled in, Adam thankfully in the backseat, while Dean practically slammed the car into drive, peeling out of the graveyard. It was a measure of the fury racing through his body that he treated the Impala so roughly. Castiel watched him with wide-eyes.

"Where are we going," he snarled as they pulled out of the graveyard, before slamming on the brakes as he was met with a stretch of unmoving vehicles.

Everyone's tense emotions bled away as they took in the expanse of traffic, some vehicles crashed into each other, while several just rested there, looking like a Nascar graveyard.

"Cas?" Dean began hesitantly.

"I cannot explain this," he muttered, doors shutting gently as the four left the car and inched towards the still-warm vehicles. "There is nobody here. There are no bodies, no human life." Dean passed a car, jumping back at the thump that came from inside a white SUV, watching a golden retriever paw at the window.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Adam snapped, skirting the car as the animal barked.

Castiel merely shook his head, walking on. Dean took to move a step away, before stopping. "Christo," he said loudly, his voice ringing eerily in the silence. The dog just cocked his head. "Cas, is this thing like… possessed or something?"

"No. It looks as though he was simply left when his human family disappeared."

Castiel was circling several vehicles, touching them, his gaze shifting from Dean to the vehicle.

Dean groaned, before wrenching the door open. "Get the hell out of here," he snapped to the animal as he hopped down and darted off.

They slowly made their way back to the car, all jumping when the dog came bounding back, before sitting next to the Impala, his tail thumping the ground, head cocked to the side.

"No. No, I am _not_ picking up stray fucking dogs," Dean muttered. "Shoo. Consider yourself lucky, buddy. I'm sure there's thousands of dogs, stuck in their houses." He felt his stomach clench at that thought, but _couldn't_ let it stew. "Wouldn't PETA just have a field day with this."

Dean put the car in drive, before slamming his head on the steering wheel, groaning and opening his door. The dog happily jumped over his lap, before stepping into the backseat, seating himself gingerly between Bobby and Adam, looking around as though to say _where to now?_

"Any idea of what we're doing, other than getting the hell out of dodge?"

There was silence, broken by occasional panting from the dog that Dean was sure was shedding all over his baby.

"I don't care, I just want to get the fuck out of here," Adam muttered, and Dean whirled, his angry glare less threatening when he had to lean around the furry blonde chest of the dog.

"You can get the hell out for all I care."

"I am _not _listening to you two," Bobby interrupted, his knee coming sharply up to the back of Dean's seat. "We are going to my house, we are going to _figure out_ what is going on here, and everyone is going to shut the hell up before you meet the business end of my sawed-off."

Dean, properly cowed by the man he'd thought of as a surrogate father, put the car in drive, and – gently this time – wove around the wrecked vehicles.

* * *

><p>Nobody wanted to name the dog. Dean resigned himself to picking up a few bags of dog food and treats when they cleaned out a gas station on the way. It had been a <em>long <em>drive, but nobody was willing to stop for the night. Castiel was silent, Bobby growing increasingly irate as he broke up spats between the brothers, until Dean cranked Metallica up a shade too loud, chugged a Red Bull, and kept driving.

The lack of human life greeted them everywhere they went. Dean swiped sodas, snacks, and energy shots from a gas station as they siphoned gas from a vehicle at the pumps.

Pulling into Bobby's had been both a relief from the tension, and frightening. The dark house was an echo of the rest of the empty world. No power, no humans, nothing. Castiel grew more and more troubled as time passed, but refrained from commenting.

Dean grabbed his things, before stomping up the stairs at Bobby's, wordlessly claiming the room he called his. Adam must have settled in Sam's room, and Dean felt a slow burn of anger. The knowledge that Sam was out there, somewhere, was the only thing that kept him from losing his cool. To go from the sheer terror of dealing with Lucifer and Michael in the graveyard, to the anger that thrummed through his veins, finally to the cool burn of fear at the realization that nobody else was _alive_ was a painful flip of emotions that left him wrecked.

He dropped off within seconds of closing his eyes, unable to even protest when a heavy weight settled on the bed next to him.

* * *

><p>"Dog, if you don't get off my feet," Dean croaked, nudging the creature draped over the end of his bed. The golden looked up, licking his lips several times before hopping down, circling in front of the shut door, whining as he glanced from Dean to the door.<p>

"Shut up, I'll take you outside."

The animal was surprisingly well-behaved – running outside, giving a few playful barks as he fetched the stick that Dean tossed for him, occasionally sniffing around the junkyard, but seemingly unwilling to leave. Castiel took that moment to appear at his side, lips tilted up the barest amount in amusement.

"It appears as though this dog has taken exceptionally well to you," Castiel intoned, watching as the dog came up to sniff his shoes, before nudging Castiel's hand. The angel clearly had no idea what he wanted, instead watching in blatant confusion as he did it several times, cold nose knocking his palm around.

"Pet the damn thing, Cas," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Castiel's hand slowly crept over the dog's head, his movements becoming more sure as the dog's tail thumped, nosing him whenever he stopped.

"You should name him."

"No."

"Why would you not? You clearly intend on keeping him, and the creature needs to know what to respond to."

"Thank you, Cesar Milan," Dean shot back, pulling his feet off the railing and standing. "I'll call you Zach, because nothing makes me happier than thinking of Zachariah as a fucking dog."

Castiel stared at him, and Dean could _feel_ the reproach in the angel's expressionless face.

"Fine. How about Gabriel?"

"I do not understand why you insist on naming him after angels."

Dean barked out a laugh. "Because angels are dicks, and it's funny."

Castiel shot him a dirty look, if Dean could call the downturn of the corners of his mouth, and the ice in his eyes as a dirty look. The angel strode back into the house, where Dean could hear the sounds of Bobby slamming things around the kitchen.

"Fine." He stared at the dog, sighing. "Ol' yeller? Lassie?" The dog didn't respond to either of those names. Dean started tossing random names out, before finally settling on Mulder. It brought a small smile to his mouth, and the two walked back inside.

"You know that means I can call him moldy, right?" Adam droned, chin in his hand as he sat at Bobby's table.

Dean clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulder, before striding in the kitchen, hoping to the gods that there was a way to make coffee without power.

Bobby's response was, "Go find yourself a way to make a damn fire, if you want coffee so bad." Dean, in the light of having nothing better to do, shrugged and went outside. He'd built a few campfires in his day, and within a short thirty minutes, had a pot of water rolling a boil over a tiny flame.

"Coffee for anyone who's not gonna piss me the hell off," he shouted, before pouring the liquid through a strainer filled with ground beans. Castiel was the only one who didn't accept a cup, and while the liquid was bitter, it warmed him up and soothed the headache.

Bobby was the one who directed them all to finding out just what had happened. First instinct said that the apocalypse had gone down, but given the archangels' absence, and both Adam and Sam alive, nobody was willing to settle on that explanation just yet. Dean's mind was stretching forward, planning. He was no good at poring over books, and after the third time Bobby snapped at him for daydreaming, he slipped off into the kitchen, notebook and pen in hand as he began to plan.

"Too good to research like us lowly humans?" Adam shot from the doorway, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

"Kid, you have no right to sit there and talk to me like that," Dean shot back, not even glancing over as he ran through his notes.

"The fuck I don't. I was in _heaven_, and your douchebag friends dragged me back here, because what? Your dad couldn't keep his dick in his pants?"

The plastic pen creaked in Dean's crushing grip, but he didn't stand up, no matter how much he wanted to plant a fist in the kid's face.

"Grow up. I'm not responsible for my dad. Sucks that you're pissed off, but it's _not my problem_. You were willing to sacrifice this _entire planet_ because you were sulking over being dragged back down here."

"Why don't you just kill me? Get me out of your hair, let me go back to my mom."

Dean finally met the kid's gaze, swallowing thickly. "I won't do that. I don't kill innocent people."

"Oh, such a hero," Adam taunted. "I'm surprised your head fits in this shithole of a house with that ego you've got."

Dean returned to his list, tossing the now ruined pen aside, and grabbing a new one. Adam stepped forward, slamming his fist down on the table. "Fucking grow a pair!" he shouted.

Bobby stepped into the room, just as Dean sat back, taking in the kid's desperate and broken face. "No. I'm not going to fight with you, I'm not going to kill you. I won't apologize for my dad, or the shitty hand you got dealt. Welcome to life as a Winchester. You man up, or you pussy out. Take your pick."

Adam stormed off, roughly shouldering Bobby, who just raised his eyebrows in Dean's directions, before stepping over to the notebook. "What's this?"

"Shit we're going to need. You guys can figure out what the hell's going on here, but we can't assume that this…" he gestured wildly over his head, "is temporary, and I refuse to believe it's permanent. We're gonna have to deal with food, and how to _live_. I'm a hunter, not some zombie apocalypse pro."

Bobby just nodded, adding a few notes to the end of Dean's list, and opened a can of green beans, grabbing a lukewarm beer.

"So what's our plan?"

"I say we go raid the town for anything we can find. Water, food, weapons. Sammy's gotta know to come here. Cas said he's heading this way, but he still can't find him. So we stock up, and wait."


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If Supernatural were mine, it would be HBO, with copious amounts of sex, and gratuitous nudity.

AN: Another chapter, in which Sam continues to make his way back to Bobby's, and the FBI gets some answers.

For anyone familiar with Criminal Minds, I took some liberties with the episode with Foyet – Jack became casualty number two (I needed Hotch to have no ties to his old life).

* * *

><p>That night, the FBI woke up to the most horrified screams, the kind that one of them could imagine when staring at mutilated victims. Everyone shot up, and Hotch cursed their missing weapons. He didn't want to draw any attention to them, but he <em>needed<em> to know what was going on.

"Sammy!" came Gabriel's shout through the wall, barely muffled. "Get the hell up, you damn giant. You're scaring the FBI!"

A few moments of silence, then murmured voices they couldn't understand. Hotch's indecisive panic weighed heavily on his mind. He had no idea what to do. Suddenly, a knock at their door startled him, and his heart skipped several very important and painful beats.

"It's me, Gabriel. I know you're all up, just wanted to let you know that everything's fine. Sam had a nightmare, go back to sleep."

Hotch tried to do so, but the memory of Sam screaming echoed through his head. It was the same scream he remember being torn from his own lips when he came upon his son's body, having already heard Haley murdered.

* * *

><p>Sam's cries were the pink elephant in the room the next morning, acknowledged through shared glances, but not spoken of. Morgan protested loudly when his team reached the consensus to follow Sam, but he stopped short of refusing to go.<p>

They piled awkwardly into an SUV, shifting Sam's arsenal from the car. "We'll have to stop for gas, and we need more supplies." A few hours later, Sam was siphoning from a parking lot, rolling his eyes at the disgusted looks Gabriel was giving him from the driver's side window.

"I'll do that for you, if you let me drive!"

"Hell will freeze over before I let you drive me _anywhere_," he retorted in between gagging spells. "And literally, I'll go down there and freeze it myself."

She pouted, dropping back into her seat when he finished, staring at him with humor in her eyes as he drove on.

"So, Sam, what happened last night?" Morgan asked pointedly, still sore from being dragged along this road trip.

"Don't worry," he muttered, suddenly tense. Gabriel shot him a dirty look from the front seat.

"I think I do have a right to worry. I'm trusting my life to a wanted felon who wakes up screaming-"

"Drop it," Sam interrupted.

"Morgan, let it go," Hotch used his most authoritative tone, but Morgan wasn't to be quelled.

"No, seriously, I need some answers man."

"Let it go!" Sam finally shouted. His voice cracked, the sound ringing through the car more thoroughly than his anger had before. "The things that haunt my nightmares would make you piss your pants," he snarled. "I'd trade this for the oh-so-terrifying serial killers you guys deal with all day, so how about you fuck off, or I leave you on the side of the road?"

The car fell silent, and Sam snapped at her when Gabriel offered up a bite of her Hershey's bar.

* * *

><p>The next night, Sam woke them up with screams, yet again. They were still only in West Virginia, having stopped for supplies for the four newcomers, more weapons, and gas every so often, not to mention the multiple reroutes due to piles of cars that proved immovable. This time, they could hear muffled cries.<p>

Voices wafted through yet again. Reid wanted to press his ear against the wall, to find out what was being whispered between the inhuman female and the broken man. He rolled over and pulled a stiff pillow over his head.

Morgan didn't bring it up again, though nobody could mistake the already dark circles under Sam's eyes.

* * *

><p>"Wouldn't it be quicker to go up into Indiana and through Illinois on the way to Sioux Falls?" Reid brought up as they passed yet another highway sign. Sam didn't want to know how this freakishly intelligent kid had so much knowledge stuck in his brain. It was kind of like talking to Cas, except he rarely worried about offending Cas.<p>

"We're kind of taking a detour."

Morgan let out a huff of annoyed air.

"You couldn't have explained that to us?"

"No."

Sam clearly didn't want to talk about it, and Gabriel's silence on the matter, or any of their conversations, was becoming infuriating. She talked to Sam, but refrained from engaging the rest of the passengers.

"Where are we headed?"

"Lawrence, Kansas."

Reid, of course, was the first to understand the significance, and in his oblivious manner, couldn't refrain from making the connection verbal.

"Why Lawrence? Your family only briefly lived there."

Sam hesitated, shifting in the seat and driving around several stopped vehicles.

"Because there might be people there," he muttered, not really answering the question, drawing in a deep breath. "Whatever is going on out here, it started there. I'm… I just have to check and make sure nobody's… around." _Dead._

Despite Morgan's probing questions, Sam wouldn't elaborate any more on the matter. Garcia tactfully changed the subject.

"So what are we going to do when we get to your friend's?"

"We're going to find a way to fix this. We didn't give up what we gave up, just to have humanity destroyed anyway. I don't understand why I'm alive, and why the rest of the world seems to be dead. Kind of obvious to say something's wrong, but we have to figure this out."

* * *

><p>Reid had watched the tension build over the course of the next day. Gabriel had poked at Sam, both physically and verbally, from the moment they hit the road. His amusement faded into irritation, then slowly building into a white-knuckled rage. While the rest of the passengers tried to coax him into talking more about the things he knew, his answers were clipped and less than revealing.<p>

Nobody in the vehicle was surprised when Sam slammed on the brakes in the middle of the highway, car screaming to a halt before he got out and stomped away. One shared look among the team, and they were out there too.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Sam shouted at Gabriel.

"Sam, please calm down, this isn't going to get us anywhere," Hotch tried to reason. Morgan voiced his agreement.

"We need to keep moving, to your friend's house, and to find your brother."

They were largely ignored. Gabriel just stared at him, her face void of any expressions.

"Seriously, Gabriel, I'm at a loss. What do you want from me, huh? You keep. Fucking. Doing this to me. My whole life is like some great cosmic joke. What, no witty comeback? Why are you tagging along? What do you get out of this? You're following me around! What else do I have left that you could possibly want?"

His voice was cracking at the end, and Reid had never seen a man so close to the edge of breaking. Garcia opened her mouth, but he just laid a finger to his lips. This was a bit beyond their expertise, and something said it was needed.

"You have to be the one who can fix this," she replied calmly, "but you can't keep going on like this. You asked if you could trust me. I need to know if I can trust you. I see your nightmares. That's enough to make any man insane. You're in pieces. The Winchester _repress and forget_ isn't working here."

"You're asking if you can _trust_ me?" he was pacing like a mad man, occasionally stopping to point at her, open his mouth, only to snap it shut and pace some more. "I did _everything_ I could. I did what you wanted me to; I gave my _life_ to end this. I let _your brother_ wear me like a meat suit. You want to talk about my nightmares?" He was screaming, and it was so full of raw pain that Reid couldn't catch his breath. "I felt the screams of every soul in Hell, I felt the fire and the burning and the torture and the fear. I was Lucifer, and it _burned_. My last memory is of _killing the people I love!_ I threw myself into Hell for this fucking world! I don't know what else I can do to prove to you that I'll do whatever it takes, _again_." His voice was breaking, and Reid hoped Gabriel would step forward to comfort him, as Sam slowed his movements.

"How much more are you willing to sacrifice?" Gabriel murmured. "This isn't over, Sam. Not by a long shot. This can't be how it's going to end, and before we're through, you're going to be in more pain. My Father wouldn't let it end like this, not again, and the fact that you're alive means that you're still needed. We all are."

Sam sank to his knees, and Garcia broke free, going to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam," she whispered. "Sam, please, let us help you. I don't know what's going on, but you're scaring me." She shot a dirty look to Gabriel, who just watched her with unreadable eyes. "You're the only one here who knows what to do, and you're going to hurt yourself." Reid could hear the unspoken "_and us_".

"I don't want to do this anymore," Sam replied. He didn't shake her arm off, but he sank forward until his palms were supporting his weight on the ground. "I'm so tired of this. I've given my life for this, what else do I have?"

Finally stepping forward, Gabriel murmured, "everything that makes you Sam Winchester, if you keep letting this tear you up. You could lose it all. I don't know what's coming, Sam. You've destroyed the rule book so spectacularly that nobody knows. It's all going to be up to you, and Dean. It always has, and I think it always will. You've been whittled down to nothing, and yet here you are, at the end of the world, still saving people."

They lapsed into silence that ticked on. Sam just breathed. Gabriel came and sat down in front of him, offering up a Reese's. Sam just stared. Hotch stepped forward, slowly, like he was approaching a vicious dog.

"What do we need to do?"

Sam drew in a deep breath, then another, and another. Gabriel watched him, expectantly. "We keep going, to Lawrence, and then Bobby's. And then we figure out a way to fix this."

The tension broke, and they all piled back into the SUV. Reid had a million questions racing through his mind, but for the life of him, he couldn't find any way to voice them. The silence stretched on, with barely a word spoken until dusk, when they settled into a motel. Once again, the group split along its comfort lines. Reid could hear them talking, in low voices through the wall, but nothing discernible. He tried to make sense of the words that had come out of Sam's mouth, but he couldn't find anything to explain them.

Nobody spoke of the afternoon, and when they fell asleep, it was uneasy.

* * *

><p>Sam didn't scream that night, but he looked worse the next morning.<p>

* * *

><p>The next day, as they crossed into Kansas, Sam brought it up. The circles under his eyes now looked like bags, and he was on the verge of trusting Hotch with the wheel.<p>

"Gabriel isn't human." The brunette just kept snacking on Twizzlers, and Reid exchanged looks with his team before continuing cautiously.

"Human?"

"I'm an archangel," she said around a mouthful of food. "The archangel Gabriel."

"Among other things."

"Oh, right," she grinned back at them. "I was also the pagan god Loki for a while. That was a lot of fun. I was a trickster, too. That was also a lot of fun."

"An archangel," Morgan muttered. "Fantastic."

"Oh, buck up, Morgan. Consider yourself lucky. Most people spend their lives hoping for one tiny sign of God, and here you get an angel, in the flesh!"

"Anyway," Sam interjected. "Do you want the short version, or the long version?"

"The truth," Reid replied instantly. "Short or long of it, I think we deserve it."

"Well, the truth is that both heaven and hell really want the planet Earth. God is AWOL. They pushed the apocalypse forward, using a long and sordid history of poking my brother and myself in the direction they wanted. I guess… well, I guess it started when I was a baby. My mother was a hunter, and her parents before that. My father was killed about five years before Dean was born, so my mother made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon named Azazel. His life, for one little visit to their house, ten years down the line. Fast forward to that day, and Azazel fed my six month old self some of his blood. My mother was killed that day. My father raised Dean and I on the road, hunting, searching for the demon. Fast forward to Stanford. My dad goes missing, and Dean comes and we try to find him. Dad was long gone by that point, so I went home, only to find Jess dead. Azazel killed her. I found out later he did it because she was what kept me on the proverbial straight and narrow, and he wanted me hunting, sharpening my skills, so I could lead his army of demons. After she died, I left."

Gabriel just watched him. Sam couldn't turn around, couldn't look at them. He swallowed a mouthful of Red Bull, before continuing. "We hunted, for monsters, and our dad. Lot of useless garbage later, we found dad, and Azazel. Dean was put in the hospital, on life support, dying. Dad made a deal with Azazel. His soul, for Dean's life. He died, Dean lived."

The pieces that Hotch knew from the file were sliding into this story with frightening ease.

"We kept hunting. I was killed, during a hunt. This time, Dean made a deal with a demon. My life, for his soul. The demon gave him one year to live. Azazel then managed to open this thing called the Devil's Gate, and unleashed a whole lot of demons onto this planet. We caught him, and we killed him. And we spent the year trying to find a way to save my brother, and round up everything that was let out."

Sam's voice cracked.

"We didn't get a chance. Hellhounds came for Dean, and dragged him to Hell. I spent the next four months pretty much killing myself, slowly. I did everything I could to get him out, but no spell worked, no demon would deal with me, nothing. I got… addicted, I guess, to a drug. It made me feel powerful, and I could forget that my brother was being tortured in Hell, even if just for a little while."

Reid purposely didn't meet anyone's eyes, though Gabriel turned and gave him a searching look. Reid didn't want to know what the archangel knew. She turned back, offering Sam a candy bar. He took it.

"Heaven realized that they needed Dean. They… attacked Hell, I guess-"

"They laid siege to it. Thousands of angels, countless garrisons," Gabriel murmured. "I heard them."

"And, in the end, this angel named Castiel dragged my brother out of Hell, four months after he died, and deposited him in his body. His buried-six-feet-under body."

Sam shuddered. "He clawed his way out. We found each other, and kept hunting, with Cas… who knew what Cas was doing back then."

"My baby brother had no fucking clue what he was doing," Gabriel interjected. "He still wanted to be a good little soldier, and obey his orders."

"Which were?"

Sam and Gabriel exchanged glances. "Protect Dean, guide us, etc. What we didn't really know at the time was that heaven wanted us to start the apocalypse. I was so drugged up on demon blood-" his face paled at that, and he choked on his words. "They needed to open sixty six seals to let Lucifer walk the earth. Yeah, the devil," he said, before anyone could question.

"So my dickhead brothers just kind of herded Sammy and Dean towards the end. Let's just say that all sixty six seals got opened. Lucifer was let out."

Sam shuddered. "Lucifer and the archangel Michael were supposed to duke it out. However, they needed meat suits. Vessels. They needed to live inside a human, descendants of Cain and Abel, to do it though. Lucifer needed to wear me," Sam laughed hollowly, brokenly. "Michael needed to wear Dean. We told them both to fuck off, over and over and over. We killed angels, we killed demons, we tried to kill Lucifer, we tried to find God, and in the end…"

"In the end, Sammy here said yes."

There was utter silence in the car. Hotch just held his breath. His wildest imagination couldn't do this. While part of him still clung to the delusional rationalization, the rest of him knew it was terrifying truth. That this was going on while the rest of the world continued on, oblivious, made him sick.

"Lucifer wore me. I had the devil walking around inside my body. We were going to open the cage that Lucifer had been in and I was going to throw us back in there. A few things got fucked up along the way, but I watched, tucked away in my own body, while Lucifer beat my brother to within an inch of his life. He killed Bobby, the man who has been like a father to us, and Castiel, the angel who gave up heaven to help us. So I threw myself, Lucifer, my half-brother Adam, and Michael into the pit of hell, into the cage. Lucifer…" Sam stopped, unable to continue.

"Then we woke up. Then we found you. And here we are."

* * *

><p>Garcia pressed a hand to her chest, the other seeking out Morgan's. She believed Sam, without a doubt. For him to have gone through this, all of this, and still be capable of functioning, let alone saving them, it was almost too much to think about.<p>

"I don't know what to say," she choked out around tears. "I guess thank you doesn't cover it."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Don't thank me," he said hollowly. "I don't want it."

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve it," Morgan casually tossed back, squeezing Garcia's hand.

Reid waited for the silence to end, but it stretched on. "So, what are we doing now?"

"I don't know. This is kind of the story of my life. We just fumble along, doing our best. Sometimes it's good enough, sometimes it's not. But Gabriel's right. This can't be it, there _has_ to be something we can do. Some way to make things right. There's always a way, we just have to find it."

When they reached Lawrence, Sam choked out the words, explaining that this was the place of the final showdown. He searched the graveyard, but there wasn't a single sign that anything had ever occurred there.

"I guess this is a good thing," he murmured as they continued north, headed to Bobby's.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title**: This Divided Man  
><strong>Author<strong>: ariathel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 overall  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 3,982 for this chapter, 15378 total (so far)  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: In which having a supernatural being carve something into your ribs is kind of painful. Dean is a baby, and Adam has issues.  
><strong>AN<strong>: FINALLY! I hated this chapter for the longest time. I finally finished it at the ass end of the morning while I thanked the gods that I'm not living in Virginia anymore - they got like half a foot of snow yesterday. I'm also going to make a master post for this story, and edit chapters to include links back and forth. Also, _thank you_ for all your kind reviews! They have made this painful chapter a bit easier to post 3.

* * *

><p>Dean lay on top of sheets and a comforter, stripped down to nothing but his boxers, contemplating how mean it would be to kick Mulder off the bed. That dog was a furnace on four legs. He sucked in the heavy air, cursing the apocalypse, wishing for even a breeze.<p>

His door creaked open. A knife was automatically in his hand, his blood racing as Mulder growled, low and slow, before the moonlight bathed the now-familiar trench coat. Castiel let the door click behind him, and Dean dropped the knife back to his bedside table. Mulder's hair stuck to the sweat on his leg as the dog's tail thumped happily, nosing Castiel's hand eagerly.

"Hey Cas," Dean croaked. His words rang out into the absolute silence of the night, nothing but the crickets to keep them company. He never realized how _quiet_ the world was without electricity. The once-familiar sounds of fans and air conditioning, motors and televisions had left his hearing almost hollow with only the awkward sounds of nature. Castiel shed his layers, one by one, until he crawled into bed, clad only in green boxers that never changed. Dean wanted to wrap an arm around his angel, he _really_did, but that would mean moving, and he didn't think he was ready for that much contact, not while his skin resembled a salamander's.

The angel hummed quietly, the fingers of his hand just briefly touching Dean's wrist. He felt a cool breeze wash over him, the sweat drying, his skin returning to a more normal temperature with a gasp. "Thanks," he whispered, knowing the angel would hear him.

Castiel laced his fingers with Dean's, as he did every night, and the hunter slowly fell asleep, clenching the hand tightly.

* * *

><p>The angel was gone when Dean woke up, by unspoken agreement. Dean felt the slow burn of something like guilt building up inside him. Not even Sam knew of the stolen nights, the heavy breathless anticipation of sex with someone Dean was able to love. He didn't know when they had begun, when that slippery slide of piercing glances and brushes of skin became moments in the Impala, tangling tongues in the bathroom.<p>

Dean grunted, pulling on a pair of pants and shirt. Cas always knew what was going through Dean's head, before he could gather the half-impressions and emotions into coherent thoughts. The angel never demanded more from him, instead allowing Dean to work through his own reservations and fears without judgment.

Cas knew that Dean loved him. It was written in every touch, every kiss, half-formed on breaths too soft for human ears, in the moans and shouts and cries as Castiel learned what pleasure was to a human body, both giving and taking.

Dean supposed that was his get-out-free card. Castiel was happy with the love, the nights falling asleep together, even the dirty texts. The rest would come in time.

* * *

><p>They all wished Castiel could use his mojo for some eggs and bacon. Dean was already sorely missing his normal breakfast, and it had only been three days. Three days of bitter, bitter coffee and toast with soft butter, once they cleaned out the local grocery store. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage… they were all the first casualties of mass electrical failure. Well, the ice cream had been the first to go, and oh, did Dean mourn. But anything refrigerated had come next.<p>

That being said, nobody thought it was wise to allow Castiel to use his grace for anything less than what was absolutely necessary. While he had become proficient in hiding himself from the host, the foursome in Bobby's house perched on a tense edge, waiting for something to happen, be it Sammy's appearance, or some revelation to fall into their laps, letting them know that yes, this _was_ fixable (because Dean knew this wasn't Heaven's paradise, the world was still a bitter place, just empty, and it wasn't Hell's fire).

And so they built small fires, boiled water for coffee, and thanked their lucky stars that Bobby was on a well. And ate bread, fruits, and vegetables. Those things would be the next to go. The canned goods would have to wait until anything unprocessed had spoiled.

Dean was afraid of what would happen if this emptiness stretched for more than a few years. He didn't relish the thought of surviving on Twinkies.

* * *

><p>Adam dove headfirst into John Winchester's private journal. He'd fought Dean for it, one afternoon. It took Bobby snatching the leather-bound pages from Dean's hand, before smacking Adam upside the head with it, but the youngest Winchester (<em>Milligan, thank you very much<em>) was finally able to poke through the pages.

Part of him _hated_ Dean for getting to have the father that skipped out on his own life. The man had showed up for a few important events here and there, rarely with any form of apology. Adam hated the man; hated the way he showed up out of the blue after 12 years, and came back whenever he damn well pleased, like Adam and Kate were toys he'd dropped, and could pick back up whenever he got bored. Adam had seen the tense set of John's jaw, sometimes, the way John _visibly_ wanted to take him to task for his mouthiness. But he'd refrained.

Well, he refrained with Adam, at least. Never let it be said that John was an easy father. Adam knew the man never struck his boys, but any socially awkward child knew that fists were preferable to the words. And John Winchester had no patience for fools. His life was dangerous, hard, and demanding. His boys, Sam and Dean, were soldiers, beginning to end.

Of course, there were a few sentences in the journal, here and there, bragging about Sam Winchester's academic accomplishments. Never Dean's, as though the first born knew, from the moment he carried Sam out of that burning house, that his life was no longer his.

But there were _pages_ of pride on Dean's first ghost. The kid was ten. Of the first time Sam disassembled and pieced his weapons back together in an acceptable time frame. He was nine. Dean's first solo hunt, at twenty-one. The division of their small little family unit was documented only in one line: _Sam left_. Adam suspected it coincided with the year John showed back up in their lives.

By the end of the book, the only handwriting was Dean and Sam's. The two filled the rest of the pages, and the information they felt a need to record was definitely darker. More findings on demons, angels, gods, and things that made normal bump-in-the-night creatures look like toys. Adam felt a happiness he immediately resented upon reading about himself, in Sam's handwriting. The two had mercilessly killed the ghouls that had taken his and his mother's lives. At least there was that.

Adam shut the book silently. He hated John for knocking his mother up, for _leaving_ his son again and again without a word. He hated Dean and Sam for the years they got from a father he'd given up on wanting. And he hated himself for wanting that, needing that pat on the back from a strong hand, when he pitched a great ball game. He hated himself for the revelation that maybe nobody was better off in this scenario. John Winchester was a terrible father, and all three of his sons got the shit end of whatever proverbial sticks he held.

He wished he could go back to the days when John was just a signature on a birthday card, weeks, _years_ too late.

'_Welcome to the Winchester family_,' he snarled. '_Where you never really win, you just survive._'

* * *

><p>Castiel let them know that Sam was a few days' drive away. He hesitated, though. He could still feel Sam's presence, and knew that he was being blocked in some manner. Perhaps the sigils were still only half-formed? Even that could partially stymie his efforts to get a firm grasp on the human's location.<p>

Dean grew more and more agitated, waiting for his brother to come. Castiel had tried, once, to draw Dean out of his funk with confident touches and biting kisses, but Dean's apologetic eyes let him know that it was no use. Castiel had smiled, placed a chaste kiss to his lips in the middle of the junkyard, while storm clouds rolled overhead.

And so they waited. Nothing in Bobby's books gave them any insight, the murmurings running through the choir were inconclusive, and there was no way to present his queries to the host without revealing what he knew. That would surely bring the wrath of scorned angels down on their heads, despite Bobby's obsessive wards.

The last night before Sam's arrival, Castiel regaled Dean with stories of ancient Greece, the great clashes of Athens and Sparta. The human fell asleep to the low tenor of Castiel's voice, hands clasped, legs entwined, despite the heat of the night.

Castiel stood watch, the next day.

* * *

><p>Sam woke with a fuzzy head, and the now familiar feeling of Gabriel stepping over his body on the mattress to jump in the air and land cross-legged next to him. His mind still equated her to the trickster, that scruffy shit of a janitor that had made his life a never-ending hell for his time trapped at the Mystery Spot and humiliated him in TV Land. They had reached a tentative truce, though Sam was still reserved with his forgiveness. He suspected the archangel didn't care if he forgave her or not.<p>

"Gabriel, why are you doing this to me?" he murmured, not opening his eyes, refusing to admit that morning had come so quickly.

"Because, Sammy, you're the only one around these parts who's fun."

He groaned. "I am _not_ fun." His voice was hoarse with sleep, and Gabriel rolled her eyes, poking him. "Please tell me that you can snap up something for breakfast that isn't more Cinnamon Toast Crunch. My body's revolting from the sugar."

She laughed, and he wanted to throw a pillow over his head.

"Maybe."

"If you keep eating candy, you're going to get fat."

She squealed loudly, kicking out, hitting him hard in the side with her bare foot. His responding shout made the door slam open next door, footsteps pounding and bursting through their door, as Gabriel kicked him again.

"I lied, I hate him. Go ahead and kill this traitor," Gabriel pouted, and Sam finally sat up, briefly aware that his bare chest was exposed to the world now. He blinked, taking in Hotch and Reid, bewildered looks spread across their faces.

"Everything okay over here?"

"No, shoot Gabriel," Sam shot back, running a hand over his hair.

"Just for that, all you get from me is spoiled milk and rotting eggs, asshole."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "I still know the banishing sigils. I can send your ass to Ber-fucking-muda in three seconds flat."

Gabriel launched herself off the mattress, tackling him to the floor, landing one solid punch to his shoulder.

"Ohh, God," Sam groaned. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"I don't know, maybe save the world?" Reid interjected, amusement lacing his voice. Sam and Gabriel laughed at that, before they slowly rose. Sam dug through his pack, pulling out a toothbrush and toothpaste, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Morgan and Garcia came to join them a minute later, and Gabriel snapped her fingers, setting out eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes. Jaws dropped, as Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"Is this real?"

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "Where do you think I've been getting the candy for the past three days? Hello, archangel of the Lord here."

Sam chose that moment to leave the bathroom, fully dressed, and almost drooling at the spread. He snagged bacon and toast, before giving Gabriel his best puppy-dog face. She sighed.

"You and your brother are disgusting monkeys, and I hate you for having ever stepped foot into my life." A pot of coffee now accompanied the breakfast, and the humans dug in.

The conversation this morning was a bit lighter than the previous day's revelations, though the reality still pressed on them. Gabriel could pluck thoughts from the FBI minds as clearly as if they'd whispered it right into her ears. Hotch, always the serious one, was trying to forget his wife and son. He shouldered on for his team, the only family left. There had been more, but they were gone, lost to Croatoan. The loss brought this group together, almost like the Winchester boys.

Morgan adamantly refused to think about his mother and sisters, and Gabriel was fine with that. Nothing like the Winchester method of repress and forget. He loved Garcia like a sister, and Gabriel could feel the desire to protect her from a danger he frustratingly didn't understand.

Garcia was best equated to sunshine. She was sad for those lost, but she couldn't dwell. She followed her team, always having their backs in any way necessary. She didn't want to burden them by asking how to handle a gun, but she was afraid of being helpless.

Morgan would teach her, Gabriel knew.

And Reid. His mind was one of the most beautiful things Gabriel had seen. The knowledge he contained, for the sheer joy of having it, was like a breath of fresh air. She could sense madness curling around the corners, just the barest hint of deviation from sanity, and had slowly straightened those rough points out. It wouldn't be a lifelong fix for the genetic lottery, but she decided that if they made it through this alive, she would continue to visit Doctor Spencer Reid on the other side.

Then came Sammy. He grinned at Hotch around a mouthful of eggs.

Gabriel knew that she was… not attracted, the word didn't fit quite right. Drawn to, maybe? She felt drawn to Sam Winchester, always had. It had been like an older sibling tormenting the younger one for the longest time, though it was now morphing. Gabriel knew exactly where her mind was headed, and was still undecided as to whether or not to go down that road. Part of her attributed it to the female body she inhabited as though it were her own. Unlike most angels, she had learned how to truly sink into a vessel, to accept the synapses and impulses and imperfections as her own, become one with a body. She enjoyed the taste of food, craved sex, chilled in the cold, and enjoyed sleep.

The last time she'd been attracted to a mortal, she had been a he, and he had fucked it up. Mortals couldn't handle angels. Constructs were much better company. And so she waited, watching, debating the merits and pitfalls of taking her brother's vessel to bed.

Sam turned, raising his eyebrows under her scrutiny. "What?" he asked, peevishly.

"I'm deciding what color to change your hair tonight."

He groaned. "No, no, no, I'm _not_ engaging in a prank war with you, don't _even_ start."

She laughed. "Smart boy, Sammy. We wouldn't want you to wind up bald - again."

"Shut up."

"I'm still going to dye your hair. I think pink, and sparkly."

"At least it's an improvement from alligators, and anal probing aliens."

With that, Gabriel lost her ability to control her mirth.

When she calmed down, Sam was telling them about the trickster, and their first meeting. "Oh, I loved the frat boy. He was so much fun," she said, grinning inwardly. "Sometimes my tricks weren't funny-"

"Sometimes?"

There was that dangerous edge, warning her to let it go, but she couldn't wipe the smirk off her face.

"Samsquatch, it all wound up fine in the end."

"You call this fine?"

His gaze bore into hers, like he was searching for the answer to _why_ in her eyes. She gave him nothing but a shrug. "I was a dick. I was sick of you pining over Dean, when he wasn't even dead yet."

"What happened?" Reid asked, curious.

"I uh…" This was definitely her story to tell. "Remember the movie Groundhog Day?" After nods of affirmation, she rolled her shoulder. "I kind of did that to Sam. I killed Dean… a lot. Every time he died, I started the day over. At the end, I left Dean dead for six months." Horrified expressions met hers, and her eyebrows knitted together. _They_ were judging _her_? Sam was the only one here who had a right to be pissed, and he was over it. "Stop staring at me like that," she snapped. "Stupid monkeys, you and your fucking morals. You don't understand the point of the game, do you? The _point_ was that Sam and Dean are so fucking wrapped up in each other that it's unhealthy. Every time one of them fucks up, the other is just waiting, ready to give themselves up to save each other."

"Gabriel," Sam warned, but she ignored him.

"You've been playing your little games out there in Quantico, while the world moves around you. You think you're better than me? Fuck you very much. I did what I had to. Sam needed to learn how to live without Dean, and maybe if I'd done it a few hundred more times, he wouldn't have been so fucking ripe for that Ruby bitch for the picking!"

"Gabriel, that's _enough_!" Sam shouted, clamping his hand down over her wrist. They both knew that she could fling him off without moving a muscle, but she allowed it to stay. "Christ, Gabriel, get a grip on yourself."

"Fuck you too, Sam Winchester." She stood, stomping to the doorway. "I'll be back later." It slammed against the wall behind her.

"Was that really an archangel throwing a temper tantrum?" Garcia asked, clearly unsure of whether or not she should laugh or lock the door.

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "Welcome to my life." He didn't like Gabriel not being around. Part of it was his own peace of mind, and the rest of it was the protection an archangel could offer.

"Demons, ghosts, temperamental archangels, oh my?"

Garcia got a few laughs for that.

"So, are we going to wait for her?"

"Yeah. I think it's time that Garcia learned how to shoot, and I'm going to teach you guys the basics of hunting. I'd hoped to wait until we got to Bobby's, but I guess this is as good of a reason as any."

The rest of the day was spent in Supernatural 101. Reid proved the most adept learner when it came to the lore, and the methods of killing monsters. Morgan, once he understood the basics of demons and ghosts, had stepped outside and started teaching Garcia what she needed to know about weapons.

Hotch just listened, mostly silent, and Sam debated asking if he was okay, before deciding it was none of his business.

* * *

><p>Gabriel returned that evening without so much as a word about where she had disappeared to.<p>

Sam had gone into depth about Gabriel, and his time without Dean. "I got over it, right around the time that Lucifer killed her. She was right. A lot of people say Dean and I are unhealthily wrapped up in each other, and it's probably true. It's been us, always us, and _just_ us. You don't live your life on the road with someone, and come out either worst enemies or… whatever we are. When Dean was dragged to hell, I got mixed up with a demon named Ruby. I thought she was on our side, helping me cope. She got me addicted to demon blood. No, _I_ got myself addicted to her blood, though I know now she did it for a reason. I was so fucked up, I chose her over Dean when he came back, and I opened the last seal, and I… I'm the reason Lucifer walked on the earth."

"Don't forget that Dean was the one who opened the first seal. You can't shoulder all the blame," Gabriel murmured, appearing at his side. "And if we want to place blame, let's go ahead and blame Azazel, for starting this. And my family, for pushing you guys in that direction. And not to mention Cas, for letting you out of the panic room."

Sam turned sharply. "I always wondered who it was. Why'd he do it?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Because the will of heaven was so entrenched in him at that point that he did whatever he had to keep their plans rolling."

Morgan shook his head, sitting back against the headrest. "Man, I don't know if your life is the worst soap opera, or someone's sick twisted joke. It sounds like you boys have been played at every turn."

"That begs the question of who's playing now," Hotch pointed out, faintly.

Uneasy silence fell, and Sam knew the FBI wasn't thrilled at being caught up in this cosmic game.

"Makes you want to go back to serial killers, doesn't it?"

Garcia let out a bark of a laugh, shaking her head. "I never thought the day would come when I'd think murderers were small fish."

"There's one more order of business for the evening, and you lot aren't going to like it."

They exchanged uneasy glances, and Sam just stared at Gabriel. She wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Now that you're officially along for the ride, you have to be protected, from heaven and hell."

Sam winced, and nobody missed it.

"How do you mean, protected?"

"First off, you need Enochian symbols on you, to hide you from the angel's prying eyes. Sooner or later, we _will_ run into something nasty. Sam here's public enemy number one to the supernatural community too, and word will get around that you're palling around with him. They'll use you to get to him, and I can't let that happen." Nobody missed the threat there, and they all knew that, if it came down to any of them or Sam, the archangel would choose the Winchester. "You also need protection from possession, and I think Sam's tattoo is the best method of doing it."

Sam agreed to go first on getting the sigils carved again, wanting this over with. He could see everyone tense when he pulled out his belt. It was a measure of the tentative trust they felt that nobody went for their weapons as he pulled out his own, stacking the small arsenal on his bed. Gabriel instructed him to sit in the chair, and he bit down hard on the belt as she positioned one hand on his shoulder, the other at his ribcage.

He screamed, his voice muffled through his clenched teeth, fingers going white on the arm rests of the flimsy chair, the wood splintering under his grip. In a few endless seconds, it was over, and the belt fell to his lap from his panting lips, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. Gabriel wiped it away with a touch, before sitting back on the bed, her gaze pained and staring at the corner of the room.

"What did you do to him?" Garcia whimpered. Sam felt intense pity for her. It was harder, knowing what was coming, and knowing it _had_ to happen.

"I carved Enochian symbols into his ribs. I will tattoo the protection above your hearts as well. Give me a few minutes to gather my strength, and I'll be ready to go again."

Hotch volunteered to go next, and Sam could see he was already white-knuckling it, even before Gabriel rose from the bed. Reid was swallowing thickly, while Morgan had broken out in a sheen of sweat. Their screams pierced the room, unable to stop themselves. When it was Garcia's turn, she looked like she was a second away from fainting. He pointedly didn't look at the men lying on the beds, pain still ricocheting through their bodies. Sam offered his hand up, not even wincing as she gripped it, feeling his bones shift.

The woman before them whimpered, her teeth marking the belt harshly, but Sam watched through a haze as she just whined, before slumping forward.

"Women's bodies are designed to handle pain better than men's," Gabriel murmured, helping the blonde to the bed.

Sam took his own room that night, after supervising the protections they put up. Today was the most tender he had ever seen Gabriel, and he clung to the memory of her helping Garcia to the bed, her normal mirth nowhere to be found.


	5. Chapter 4

**Title**: This Divided Man  
><strong>Author<strong>: Ariathel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 overall  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 4806 for this chapter, 20184 total (so far)  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Home is where family is.  
><strong>AN:<strong> I'm not sure I like this chapter either.

* * *

><p>The final leg of the trip into Sioux Falls was edged with anxiety, laced with terse silences that Reid <em>wished<em> a knife could cut through. This was it. If Sam's family wasn't here, waiting, he was afraid the man would shatter. It was easy to see how haunted he was, despite the way he attempted to cheer his companions up. Demons flew through his head, unable to be exorcised or captured or killed.

The SUV pulled up a well-worn dirt road, flanked by trees and thick summer air. Reid caught Morgan's eye, but neither had the ability to speak.

And then they stopped. A figure stood on the porch, tan trench coat visible, head cocked to the side without expression.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, flinging himself from the vehicle. "Bobby, Cas!" Reid stepped out a bit more calmly, his heart pounding in an unfamiliar way. Figures poured out of the house now, an old man Reid identified as Bobby, a younger man with a scowl and sandy blonde hair, and then came the infamous Dean Winchester, flanked by a golden retriever.

He _flew_ down the steps, across the gravel, jerking Sam into a tight hug, air audibly forced from their lungs as they clasped each other. The embrace lasted for several seconds, and Reid felt a smile come over his face, unbidden. This was _family_. Brothers. They were everything to each other, that much was plain. It was like Sam was able to breathe, for the first time since Reid had met him, his eyes shut in painful relief.

Bobby was greeted in much the same fashion, though the man gruffly mumbled the whole time. The happiness was plain in the crinkle of his eyes, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

Hugs were exchanged much more briefly, though with no less sincerity, with the man in the trench coat, and shockingly blue eyes. The youngest man had already disappeared back into the house. Sam spared the empty doorway a glance, before stepping back, clearing his throat.

"Gabriel," a gravelly voice cut off the impending introductions. Reid turned to the archangel, a sly smile over her lips.

"Castiel." She grinned, lighting up her normally expressionless face.

"Wait, _Gabriel?_" Dean cut in, glancing from Sam to Gabriel to the dark haired man – Castiel. "As in… Gabriel."

"Oh, Dean-o, wipe that drool off your chin. Like the rack?" Gabriel made the universal "boobs" sign in front of her chest, smirking as eyes were averted and several cheeks were tinged red.

Dean's eyebrows rose impossibly as he glanced at Gabriel's chest, before clearing his throat. "How?"

"Eloquent," she drawled, smirk curling the corners of her lips. "Dad, maybe?" She shrugged. "Found Sammy here, been road tripping since! Would've been a lot more fun with hallucinogenics, but hey, a girl takes what she can get."

Bobby cleared his throat, nodding his head in the direction of the four newcomers. "Now that we got our resident douchebag angel back, who the hell are you kids?"

"My name is Spencer Reid," he supplied, pulling his hand out of his pocket, clasping Bobby's in a firm shake. "Sam and Gabriel picked us up a few days ago outside of D.C."

Introductions were made, and Spencer noticed that nobody identified themselves as federal agents. He suspected it was the desire to not immediately identify themselves as an enemy, while all four of them wanted to be a part of this group of hunters. Sam rubbed the back of his neck, and Dean's gaze met his sharply, unspoken language passing between the brothers almost too quickly to follow.

"They're F.B.I."

Dean turned to them, eyebrow raised, mouth open in anticipation of a scathing remark.

"Look," Morgan cut in. "We know who you are. Sam didn't bring us here to arrest you. He saved our asses, and hit us with a few nasty truths. We're just survivors of the end of the world."

The explanation was warily accepted, before Gabriel shrugged her shoulders, snapping her fingers and sipping a frosty pink drink. The golden shifted from his spot by Dean's side to stand directly in front of her, lifting his paw in the air as though he wanted to shake. She met his gaze, staring, until the dog sat and cocked his head. His reward was a piece of cheese.

"So, Gabriel, what happened to your meatsuit?" Dean asked, pointedly glancing at the female. Reid raised his eyebrows, watching as Bobby patted Sam's shoulder once, before heading back into the house. Hotch gave Sam a nod and followed him inside. Part of Reid wanted to go meet their reluctant host, but the larger portion wanted to understand more about the Winchester duo, prompting him to lean back against the black SUV, waiting.

"Didn't like it," she responded airily, the pink concoction now nothing more than a few lazy slurps through her straw. The glass vanished, instantly replaced by gummy worms. She loudly slurped them up, one by one. "Got a new one."

"Whatever, dude. Glad the tits are working out for ya."

"What are you talking about?" Garcia interjected, bewildered. Dean gave her a small smile that was equal parts wary and friendly.

"Gabriel was a dude the first time we met him. Actually, all the times we met him, until the whole she-bang where, you know, Lucifer _stabbed_ him."

She rolled her eyes, flicking a candy in his direction, then once more in Castiel's because she could. It bounced off his forehead. Gabriel smirked at the cross-eyed look he tossed in her direction. "Yeah, well, Daddy didn't see fit to give me my body back."

"You just… body hop?"

Gabriel snapped her fingers, an exact replica of her former vessel standing before her. She circled him, taking note of the body that had been her constant companion for centuries. "He was tall back when I first took him." Another snap and he disappeared, before she raised an eyebrow. "Been a few millennia since I've inhabited a female vessel. I had two choices. Camille here was addicted to heroin, and on the verge of suicide. I offered her eternal sleep, and amazing dreams. She agreed. Right now, she's currently getting it on with a well-endowed Brad Pitt on their private Caribbean island. I think Daniel Craig is going to join them soon."

Garcia laughed, shaking her head, before standing upright, heading inside. "I'm going to go talk to Hotch." Morgan nodded once to Reid, and followed.

* * *

><p>Hotch was unsure of how to approach this man. In the professional field, he would have walked up, authority and comfort in every stride. A handshake, a few words, and he would have a good indication of just what drove Bobby Singer. It was how his mind worked, analyzing each clue, pulling apart their actions for the clues that led to their past.<p>

He didn't have a right to approach Bobby in that manner. He was a guest, unwanted or not, in this man's home, and to allow his authority as a federal agent to show would, no doubt, put this already suspicious man on further edge.

"Whatever you have to ask, the answer is no. I ain't here to hold your hand," Bobby snapped, standing in the doorway to his kitchen. "Sam picked you up, that's good and well, but apocalypse or no, you're still FBI."

"I understand that," Hotch countered. "I merely wanted to thank you, for allowing my team and I a place to stay. Given what Sam's told us, you have every right to not trust any member of law enforcement."

Bobby tossed his shoulder.

"There's a whole world out there that you never would've known about, if this… this _shit_ didn't happen. Your kind would've gladly killed Sam and Dean a week ago. So keep your thanks."

Hotch met the angry gaze, refusing to look down in shame. There was nothing but truth there. Any prosecutor against either of the brothers would have asked for the death penalty, and while his team would've attempted to argue insanity, they would not have been able to be very persuasive.

"So no, I'm not trying to be your buddy. You're here, _in my house_. I ain't gonna throw you lot out, but don't expect anything more from me."

He walked away, leaving Hotch at the table, reeling from the stern words, wishing there was something appropriate to say. Civilians were often distrustful of law enforcement, which frustrated and amused him to no end. His focus was always on appeasing them long enough to get the necessary information, and move on.

Now, however, he had nothing to say, nothing to do. He was in the wrong, without ever having _known_ he was in the wrong. If any of them had been caught, they could try to explain the truth, but nobody would believe them.

Bobby moved through the house, usually flipping through a book, occasionally snapping at the young man Hotch identified as Adam. The kid gave him a wide berth, and it wasn't until Morgan and Garcia sat down, that he had a reason to talk.

"We're not exactly the good guys here, are we?" Garcia asked, quietly.

"No."

"Don't worry about it, baby girl," Morgan tried to reassure her. "We couldn't have known."

"What if this didn't happen? This… apocalypse, or whatever. Henrikson was looking for the death penalty. He would've gotten it."

Her rasping voice was seconds away from falling to pieces. Morgan clasped her hand, while Hotch gave her a small smile.

"Garcia, there's nothing we can do about the past. We're here, now. Where we go from here is up to us. I intend on seeing this through, and if I'm ever called to be FBI again, I'll remember this."

Morgan nodded his consent, and Garcia cleared her throat as quietly as possible.

"I miss…"

"Me too."

Hotch merely nodded his assent.

* * *

><p>"So, gentlemen, anyone gonna say no to some cold beer? I'm relatively recharged enough to hide from the host again."<p>

Dean moaned almost pornographically, and looked to be contemplating dropping down to bended knee. Gabriel patted his shoulder, snapping beers and lawn chairs in to place.

The night passed with laughter and stories. Reid spent much of his time listening, smile playing at his lips. This family, in all of its forms, was foreign to him. His absent father, his institutionalized mother, and growing up a prodigy forced him to learn to take comfort first and foremost in himself. The BAU hardly held better examples of healthy relationships.

The dog, introduced as Mulder, curled up in the center of the circle, only occasionally lifting his head to cock his hears in the direction of any stray noise. Dean and Sam shared an easy camaraderie. Reid suspected it would take a lifetime to decipher the intonations, the twitches of muscle, the glances that meant more than words could ever say. Gabriel and Castiel were clearly cut from the same cloth, and he suspected half their conversations took place outside the realm of normal speech.

"It took a long time for Michael to recover," Gabriel was murmuring, staring down at the beer nestled between her knees. "He and Lucifer were the closest. I suspect he's grown bitter because of it."

Dean snorted. "He's gone past bitter into crazy."

Gabriel gave him a sharp look, her body stilling. "This moment in time, all of these lifetimes, is but a blink of our eyes. Lucifer is in _time out._ Michael is sulking. He misses Lucifer. We all do."

Reid swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "What of Raphael?"

"Raphael was always alone. He found Lucifer and I's games juvenile, and Michael disturbed him. He spent more time training with his garrison. He wants this apocalypse as much as the rest of them, because he's tired of waiting."

He let it go, trying not to think back to the date of his own torture by the man who claimed to be Raphael. Gabriel, however, snapped her gaze to his, his thoughts as plain as if he'd voiced them. "What?" Maybe she could hear his thoughts. He wasn't surprised.

"I… A few years ago, I was captured, tortured, and killed by a schizophrenic man. He had three identities, one of which named itself Raphael. It was that identity that killed me, while another resuscitated me."

Gabriel's eyes searched his, before she leaned forward, hand extended, allowing him ample opportunity to back off. He watched, warily, until she met his forehead. Her palm was unnaturally warm, sending a slight tingle racing through his limbs.

A moment later, she sat back, shaking out her hand. She glanced from one face to the next, her jaw clenching before taking the beer bottle and angrily hurling it out into the junkyard. It shattered with more force than should have been humanly possible. Mulder growled.

"Oh, this is so _fucking_ funny!" she shouted, stomping her foot as she turned, eyes closed and fists clenched at her sides. "Doesn't anyone else get it?"

Castiel cocked his head. "Four vessels. The four archangels, right here."

"Don't anybody say y-e-s," Sam muttered, his knuckles white around the neck of his beer bottle.

"I'm a vessel?"

"Welcome to the club," Dean said, lifting his beer in mock cheers. Reid blinked, no longer wanting to finish his.

Castiel frowned in Dean's general direction, while Gabriel's gaze was locked on the side of Sam's head. "I think I'd have loved to see Raphael bested by a schizophrenic man. No matter what he says of humanity, the _minds_ you have, it's beautiful."

Dean stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"So, what we've got here is an archangel – turned pagan – turned trickster. We have Castiel, resurrected, fallen and restored angel of the Lord. And three vessels." Dean let out his breath on a whistle. "This could be a clusterfuck."

"This has to be my Father's doing," Castiel murmured. Gabriel snorted, but it was soft, more a sound of disbelief than mockery. "It was only natural for Dean, Sam, and myself to wind up here. But Gabriel, you had no need to tag along. You were restored as you once were. And Sam could have picked a different motel, could have never found Reid and his partners. There _must_ be a reason for this."

Silence hung thickly. Reid swallowed audibly, twice, before unclenching his hands. "Why me?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Genetics, most likely. Sam and Dean are descendants of Cain and Abel, but vessels for myself and Raphael don't need such ancient bloodlines. I've yet to really figure out the pattern for my vessels, and Raphael wasn't exactly chatty Cathy, once humanity came into the picture."

"But… so most of the people on this planet disappear. I wind up here, with you four, through events that can't be coincidence. What is the point of this? I would have thought Raphael would have wanted me during all this apocalypse business, but aside from the torture, there's been nothing."

Gabriel pursed her lips, before holding out her hand again. "Think of that day."

He flinched, eyes skittering to Sam, before the doorway his friends had disappeared through. It was a dark memory, something he had learned to cope with. He shut his eyes and suppressed a shudder as he remembered the feeling of being tied to that chair, at the man's mercy. Gabriel's hand connected with the skin of his forehead, once again, and he could _feel_ something warm slithering through him, through his mind, lacing through the memories of pain and terror and _alone_.

He didn't know how long before Gabriel removed her hand, drawing in low, gasping breaths as shudders wracked his body. She gently brushed a touch to his hand, and the ache subsided, his body stilling.

"Raphael most likely was bested by the man's delusions. The human mind is wonderful. If Sam was able to beat _Lucifer_, there's nothing to say that your captor couldn't pull control away from him. Raphael probably thought you were dead, and wasn't about to waste any more time in a body he couldn't control. Dead vessels can't say yes, and he might have decided to push this along from the sidelines."

"So Raphael _was_ trying to play a bigger role in this party," Sam mused, dropping his empty beer bottle into the trash can full of other bottles. "He just couldn't do it with such a weak vessel."

"Probably." Gabriel snorted. "I'm surprised humanity has lasted this long, with my family trying so hard to destroy you guys."

"We need to be thankful their efforts have not brought more destruction," Castiel reasoned. "Hopefully with this new information, we might be able to discern our Father's true intentions."

"If it really is God," Dean shot. "Yeah, nothing's ever _really_ coincidence for us, but God's been kind of AWOL on this party. Why would he step up now, and why would he do _this_?"

There were no answers. Gabriel grabbed her own elbows, stood back and pursed her lips.

Bobby interrupted their conversation with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. "There's a problem." Dean raised his eyebrows, moving to stand, until Bobby slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Not an Adam problem, idjit. Where the hell is everybody going to sleep?"

Sam frowned. Bobby _definitely_ didn't have enough room for eight sleeping people. "We could find mattresses. Nearby houses, whatnot, and bring them back here. Two can sleep in the panic room, Dean and I can share… Adam can share with us?"

"Uh, bad idea," Dean interjected, shifting uncomfortably. "Kid's got serious beef with me, probably you." Sam watched Dean's eyes slide to Castiel's. Not like the angel needed to sleep. He filed that observation away for "later".

"I can share with him, if he would be comfortable," Reid offered. Sam nodded, gratefully.

"That leaves Garcia, Morgan, and Hotch."

After various suggestions were offered up, Sam and Dean took one of Bobby's working vans and drove the mile up the road to the next house over, snagging mattresses and clean sheets with only a few moments of discomfort.

Dinner consisted of real, cooked food, courtesy of Gabriel, who sank into the couch, staring through the walls. Adam tried to object to sharing with Reid, but after it was made clear that he would share, or sleep outside, he'd stormed up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Sam sat up abruptly, blinking in the fading darkness of the morning, before glancing around the room, bewildered. His eyes settled on Dean, sleeping fitfully on his side. Just as his brother began to twitch in the throes of a nightmare, Sam saw a hand creep up over his shoulder, just resting there. Dean's twitching settled, and he breathed deeply.<p>

His mind reeled. Who was in bed with – Cas. It had to be. Sam sank back down, quietly, knowing the angel heard him. Sure enough, several minutes later, the mattress Dean was on creaked, and Castiel strode to the door. Blue eyes settled on Sam's face. The hunter just blinked, before swallowing harshly and nodding, just once.

Castiel left. After a short period of fitful sleep, Dean rose, pulling pants on, and slipping out the door. Sam let out a long breath. How long had this been going on? How had he never known? Why didn't Dean tell him?

Sam woke later in the morning to Gabriel waving a steaming cup of coffee under his nose. She leaned against the bed's frame, legs crossed, pajama shorts impossibly short, tank top a size too small. Bright green slippers stretched out, tapping against the post of Dean's bed. Sam shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Gabriel waggled her eyebrows, smirking at the blush that crossed his face.

"You don't need to sleep. Why are you wearing that?"

"Oh, Sam, I just like to see you squirm."

"Mission accomplished, can you please put real clothes on?"

She rolled her eyes, snapping her fingers, this time into a skirt and properly-sized top.

"Thank you."

Gabriel hummed for a moment, shifting until she was cross-legged.

"I don't think it's safe for us all to be here."

Sam sipped the coffee, sinking beside her against the mattress. "What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know, Sam, split up?" Sarcasm dripped from every syllable, and Sam wasn't awake enough to really care.

"There aren't enough hunters to go around. Dean and I won't split, not yet, and Cas won't leave his side. That leaves you and Bobby to take care of the FBI – not exactly a good idea in either case."

Gabriel frowned, shifting again. "This isn't supposed to happen. That you and Dean were born was unorthodox enough. To combine those bloodlines, it was nothing short of Father's work. That true vessels of all four of us could come together like this… It's dangerous. We don't know _where_ Michael and Lucifer are, or _why_ 6 billion lives have just vanished."

"Well, that's what we're doing. That's what we always do. We research, we plan, and we fight. If this _is_ God's work, then He has to have a reason. If he wanted humanity gone, he'd just destroy the planet. We've been left alive, why? We still have a job to do. Michael and Lucifer are gone. Logic says that God wanted them out of the way. Once again, why? Chances are, we screwed up. Locking Lucifer and Michael in the cage wasn't the game plan." Silence fell. Sam didn't really have any more deductions to make, and they were already operating under the _big_ assumption that God really was paying attention, and that this was His doing.

Gabriel hummed, tapping her fingers against her knee, a dull rhythm. "So how long have dumb and dumber been bumping uglies?"

Sam choked on his coffee, eyes watering painfully as the burning liquid fought its way back up or down, anywhere out of the path of air. "Please, don't remind me about that."

Her smirk was leveled on him, eyebrows raised in a leer. "Come on, tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Thought about what?"

"Fucking an angel."

Sam swallowed, then stood abruptly. "Thank you, Gabriel, for the coffee."

He was gone.

Gabriel rolled her eyes, glancing down into her own lap. _Damn you, Winchester_.

* * *

><p>Breakfast, courtesy of Gabriel, almost brought tears of joy to Bobby's eyes. Adam was nowhere to be found, and Reid's uncomfortable shifting, when asked, let Sam know that the night had not gone particularly well.<p>

"So, what's our game plan?"

"None of the books located within the house offer any type of solution."

Sam and Dean shared a look. "What do you suggest, Cas?"

The angel's gaze slid to the towers of texts. "I do not know if the answers to our problem would lie in a book, but I would not rule the possibility out. If we could find other tomes, they might be of use."

"Well, let's look at all the apocalypse books, and I guess start looking at their references."

The look Dean gave Sam clearly indicated that the younger brother had spoken Swahili. "What?"

"You are _such_ a nerd," he said. Sam rolled his eyes, shouldering Dean on the way out of the room. "Bitch."

"Jerk!"

The most efficient at dividing the books were Sam, Dean, and Bobby, having pored over them countless times in the months leading up to this. Reid flew through tomes, hands skimming down the pages faster than Sam could even comprehend. Morgan and Garcia took to organizing the references, while Hotch kept the useful books in relevant stacks.

Nobody pretended not to notice the cold shoulder Bobby gave the FBI, or the wary look in Dean's eye whenever he had to speak to them. Morgan and Garcia kept to themselves, Hotch watched, and Reid slid, with surprisingly little effort, into either group. Adam appeared sometime after lunch, dusty and sweaty. Mulder collapsed at his feet, equally dirty, and Bobby opened his mouth to tell them to go wash off, before snapping it shut and glaring.

Gabriel and Castiel occasionally interrupted, catching mistakes in sorting the piles, and by the time evening rolled around, there was a workable list of almost fifty reference materials.

"Tomorrow we'll split up and take the libraries in the city, try and figure out where these books all are," Sam decided, copying the list down on several sheets of paper, so everyone could have all the tomes they needed.

Finally, without the overhead of research, the groups listlessly split up. Reid opted to follow the angels and Winchesters back outside, purposefully hoping to avoid revealing his connection to Raphael to his team.

Reid found himself drinking another beer, watching the stars, facts and statistics swirling around his mind as the low murmurs of conversation threaded around him. Whereas last night was carefree, happy in being together again, tonight was more solemn.

The knowledge that the vessels were gathered weighed on them. Reid had briefly contemplated leaving, but Castiel pulled him aside and informed him that he was safer here, vessel or not. If the angels caught wind of this gathering, they would deal with it then.

Suddenly, Gabriel and Castiel winced at once. Reid sat up, looking to Sam who appeared just as bewildered.

"Raphael has been found to be missing," Castiel murmured. Reid's heart thumped and his hands grew clammy around the lukewarm glass. "All four archangels are gone." The angel's gaze burned into Dean's, while Reid met Sam's eyes, dread coiling tightly inside of him.

"This is going to get ugly _really_ fast," Gabriel murmured. "I suspect civil war will break out again. I don't know if that's a better thought than them coming down here and looking for you."

Reid was hit with the implications as a stubborn look crossed over Dean's face, a chagrined one on Sam's. This small team of humans and angels staggered along, fighting against _heaven_. Angels weren't fluffy little creatures, flitting around with magical wands. They were _warriors_, created to serve and love and die. Gabriel and Castiel had chosen humanity over their family.

"Don't make it sound so noble," Castiel intoned. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Again, with the mind reading." Castiel glared in return. "I'm going inside. Nothing's going to be decided tonight, and I'm sick of giving myself a damned headache."

He stood, tossing his bottle noisily into the trash bag. Reid watched Castiel's gaze follow him to the door, before returning to settle on his own. It was unnerving, being subjected to such an intense stare, and Reid was only able to meet it for several seconds before looking away.

"I'm going to head in, too. Hopefully Adam's asleep."

"Hey, what happened last night?" Sam asked, holding up his hand to stop Reid from leaving for a second.

Reid shrugged. "He didn't have much to say. I tried to ask him a few questions about his family, but he seemed pretty shut down."

Sam coughed. "Yeah, well, my dad wasn't exactly a stellar example of fatherhood. I don't really know how he treated Adam, but the kid probably hates all of us, and I don't really blame him."

"Give him time," Castiel said gently. "He will come around."

Castiel waited for just the appropriate amount of time, Sam realized, before excusing himself. Part of him dreaded going back up to the room he shared with Dean. He wasn't expecting to _interrupt_ anything, but the thought of seeing them, laid out on that bed – together – made Sam's stomach roll.

"You don't approve?" Gabriel's eyebrow was arched, her legs crossed and back slouching. Her hair was yanked into a messy bun. Sam found it endearing. Her eyebrow rose in response. "How sweet."

"Don't be a bitch," Sam snapped. "You know the body's attractive. Just because _you're_ in it doesn't change anything."

Her expression grew stormy, smile sliding off her lips, and Sam shouldered on, despite the imminent threat to his existence.

"No, I don't _like_ the idea of Dean and Cas sleeping together. We're human. You guys are _angels_. Been there, done that with the cross-species relationships, and they tend to wind up in, you know, the world ending. So yeah, excuse me for thinking that my brother _fucking_ an _angel of the Lord_ is a terrible idea."

Sam's breathing had sped up, and Gabriel could hear his heart pounding, cutting through the silent evening.

Part of her wanted to smite him, or turn him into a brick, just for the night. She stopped, listening to the frantic push of his mind, assessing the thoughts racing through there, ignoring his pointed glare. "Get the hell _out_ of my head, Gabriel."

"You like me." Her jaw dropped. "Not just the vessel, me. That's what's gotten you so worked up."

He stood, stiffly, his back to her. "Doesn't matter. Everything I said still applies. I won't be another toy for you to play with, not again."

She let him go, frowning thoughtfully into the night.


	6. Chapter 5

**Title**: This Divided Man  
><strong>Author<strong>: ariathel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 overall  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 4796 for this chapter, 24980 total (so far)  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Public libraries aren't better than Bobby's, and Crowley has something to say.  
><strong>AN:<strong> I like this chapter. Not much in the way of action (I'm terrible at action), but Adam gets some time. Carnivals are cliche and I'm a terrible author for doing it. I like this so far... but without a beta, I need reviewers to be HONEST and tell me if it's boring, doesn't make sense, or just shitty. THANKS!

* * *

><p>Sam watched Reid pore over John Winchester's journal before they left for the city. The pages were long since filled with he and Dean's own observations, notes in the margins, next to John's.<p>

"This was my dad's," he murmured. "When Dean came and got me from Stanford, we found this, and we knew he was gone. He never forgot this anywhere, and he left this for us. It brought us back together."

Reid flipped the pages, his fingers running down them as he scanned the journal in under a few minutes flat. Sam just raised his eyebrows.

"You read all that?"

Reid flushed. "I can read 20000 words per minute. I have an eidetic memory. Very little escapes me."

"I wondered how you recognized me. I mean, it's been a while since Henrikson…"

"What happened?"

Sam sighed. "We got caught. Henrikson was so happy; it was like a lifetime of Christmas's for him. Then he was possessed. Once we exorcised the demon, he believed us, and let us go free. The station was attacked by a few dozen demons, all out for my blood. We won, though, this little underdog team of cops and fugitives. Henrikson let us go, and said he would report us as deceased. Unfortunately, Lillith arrived, and she destroyed them all."

He met Reid's eyes. "You ever feel responsible for the ones you didn't save? I mean the ones that died after you got there. Maybe if we had been fast enough, or better, they wouldn't have died. Henrikson was a good man."

Dean slipped his head into the office, muttering crossly. "Let's _go_. Libraries await, joy to the world, blah, blah."

Reid stood to follow, before turning. "It's not your fault," he tossed over his shoulders. "I mean, you've made some bad choices, but we all have."

"Did your bad choices start the apocalypse?"

Reid frowned. "Don't belittle others' mistakes just because yours had bigger consequences. There's something to be said for telling the devil no, for fighting heaven _and_ hell, and still coming out the other side."

* * *

><p>Sam, Gabriel, and Hotch took the main branch of the library, winding their way through the streets to North Dakota Avenue in silence. Something chilled between the two in the front seat, but Hotch was still wary enough to let it be.<p>

The locks were picked while Hotch watched, fascinated at the speed and ease with which Sam handled the task. Gabriel took off the moment they were inside, and despite the annoyed pinch Sam's face, he didn't say anything.

"So what do we need to do?"

"Search through offices, anything, for paperwork on any of these books, find out how many of these are at other libraries, and how many are just not here. Most of them I know we won't find here, but it would be nice to be able to rule these books out pretty quickly. Things you'll find in a public library are rarely factual, or useful, when it comes to the Supernatural. Hunters aren't exactly the publishing type."

Hotch nodded, before swallowing guiltily as Sam kicked a difficult door in, wincing and rubbing his knee.

"You guys do this a lot?"

Sam shot him a shark-like grin.

"Of course. An FBI badge will only get us so far. The rest, we dig up ourselves."

Hotch snorted. "I'm not surprised."

A shrug was his only answer as Sam dug through the drawers of the desk. Hotch sifted through the filing cabinet before sighing. "You do realize this is most likely stored on the computer?"

Sam stood, reluctantly nodding. "It was a long shot."

They combed through the shelves of books, pulling any and all off that appeared to be useful. Hotch grew tired of searching the tomes long before Sam did; the younger man's stamina for mind-numbing reading far surpassing his own.

Very little conversation passed between them – occasionally, Hotch would gesture to a page, or an image. More often than not, Sam would shake his head with a rueful smile, and pronounce it wrong or useless.

Gabriel rejoined them as the light filtering through the windows began to dim, lollipop rolling between her lips, her bare feet propped on the table.

"Do you _really_ expect to get anything useful from a public library?"

"No," Sam replied, curtly. Gabriel pulled the lollipop out of her lips with a loud pop, before licking it obscenely. Hotch blinked and stared back down at the page he was currently on, pointedly ignoring the noises she was making around the candy. This _wasn't_ how angels were supposed to act.

Part of him wanted to demand the archangel answer for Haley and Jack's deaths. Why two perfectly innocent people could die because he dared to pursue criminals. Angels might not be the winged creatures of love and light they'd been taught about in Sunday school, but damnit, were they _that_ jaded and hateful that they could stand by and watch innocents suffer?

The page rumpled under his fingers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sam continued to shuffle through books as he drew a deep breath, and another, pushing the anger away until he could breathe again, the suffocating weight of grief no longer choking the air out of his lungs.

The noises continued.

"Damnit, Gabriel," Sam snapped, slamming the book shut with a crack, emphasizing his words. "Will you _stop_?"

"Stop what, Sam?" She was egging him on, that much was apparent. Sam, a step before his brain kicked in, walked right into her trap.

"Making those _noises_! We're _trying_ to do this research, to figure this shit out. If you aren't going to help, then shut the fuck up and let us-"

Hotch glanced up at the silence. Sam's mouth was still moving, but sound no longer came out.

"Don't be a bitch, Sam," Gabriel warned, her voice deceptively light. "I might be along for this ride, but I'm not going to be your study buddy. Take it or leave it."

Sam shot her a look of pure loathing.

"What was that? Can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am," Gabriel smirked. "There's nothing of any value in this library. If you two lovely gents would like to get a move on?"

* * *

><p>"Look, I don't know how to say this," Morgan began, hesitant. He shared a look with Garcia, who merely raised her eyebrows, as if to say, '<em>You're the one who started this<em>.'

"Spit it out."

"Your brother… Are his nightmares always that bad?"

Dean was silent, gripping the wheel tightly enough to make the leather creak. Castiel glanced back to him, that awkward and slightly creepy gaze focusing on Morgan's. Years in the FBI academy, staring down murderers and rapists and scum of the Earth, and an angel of the lord had him swallowing around a lump in his throat.

"Look, maybe it's none of my business," his voice trailed off, and he had no idea what to say. "I just think someone needs to be helping him."

"Who do you suggest, huh?" Dean snapped. "There isn't exactly a therapist equipped to deal with _possessed by Lucifer_."

"Whatever."

"Has it always been like this?" Garcia murmured.

"Yes." Dean was unable to maintain the curt tone with the pretty blonde, instead shifting uncomfortably and loosening his grip as they pulled into the empty parking lot, building standing innocently in the morning sun. Morgan supposed that libraries were only creepy after nightfall.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"They go away, eventually," Dean muttered. "Talking ain't exactly our bag. Me and Sam, we just deal."

"Perhaps Sam would benefit from a talk with you," Castiel offered. "You are perhaps the only person alive who might understand what is in his mind."

"Look, Cas," Dean began, stepping out of the car into the sunshine, before ducking back in. "Sam wants to say something to me, he'll say something. I trust him." Castiel was the only person who heard the unspoken _again_, and he let out a slow breath. The tenuous truce that had existed between the brothers since Ruby was stronger than it had probably ever been.

Morgan flexed his hand for a second, easing some of the tension, before sharing a small smile and eye roll with Garcia as she followed the hunter and angel to the front door. It opened with a wave of Castiel's hand, and Morgan supposed he should be impressed, but this was just another incident in a long string of unsettling revelations he couldn't sort through. The rational part of his brain still screamed _bullshit_, but he had to accept what was in front of his face.

He and Garcia strolled through the shelves. Without a paper method of location specific tomes, they had to find useful sections using their eyes. Passing the one dedicated to occult – useless, according to Dean and Castiel – they instead looked for holy books, religious texts, anything about the end of times.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Garcia began, tentatively.

"I don't know, baby girl. This isn't exactly something I've been trained to deal with."

"I know, but after. If there is an after. I keep hoping that this isn't real, that people will come back again, but what if they never do?"

"Then we keep fighting. We do what we can, and live it out. No matter what happens, I'm not gonna leave you."

Garcia offered up a small smile, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "Sorry to be a Debbie downer."

"Don't worry, hotness."

The smile they shared was comfortable and familiar. After retrieving two stacks of books that might have been promising, they seated themselves next to Dean and Castiel, the two working in tandem that Morgan could envy. His team was a tight-knit unit, his second family, but nobody exuded this much familiarity.

Returning home, empty-handed, felt like a let-down. Dean just shrugged. "We didn't really expect to find anything. The chance that any public library could have better information than Bobby was pretty small, but we had to look."

"Checking every option, no matter what?"

"Damn straight."

* * *

><p>Not a single library held anything useful, and each group returned, dejected. Bobby grew more irate with each passing hour, the company in his house crowding and suffocating, until Sam and Dean dragged everybody outside, save Bobby and Adam. Gabriel almost refused to snap up chairs and beers, finally giving in when Dean had tossed her a pleading look.<p>

"Not too proud to beg, eh, Winchester?" she muttered.

"I just want a damn beer, and nobody's exactly shipping them to the local gas station."

Just when the chairs stopped creaking, and the lopsided circle settled, a quiet pop snapped each of them out of their reveries.

It was a testament to their cautious states, even while relaxing, that the figure in black had half a dozen weapons trained on him in a split second.

"Is that any way to treat a friend, boys?"

"Crowley," Dean growled. "What are you doing here?"

The demon sent a shark-like grin his way, before sifting his tumbler of scotch, taking in the newest company. "Isn't this cute, it's an angelic reunion," he sneered, eyes falling on Reid. "Raphael's vessel. How do you do, nice to meet you, and all applicable pleasantries. I've come bearing news."

Reid shifted under the curious stares of his team, pointedly not meeting their eyes as he flicked the safety back on his weapon, before lowering it.

"Spit it out, Crowley."

"Don't be snarky," he shot back to Sam, smirk still on his face. "The angels are on the move. They've already thoroughly scoured that cemetery. Demons are tracking you lot. We're in a stasis. Time keeps moving, but this world is more or less frozen, waiting on you boys to do your duty."

"And what duty would that be?"

"Why, the archangels. You were supposed to _take care of it. _Did you think locking them up like bratty children would suffice? This is what happened when Lucifer and Michael understood Sam's _brilliant_ plan was _actually_ going to work. They might have been unable to stop their fall into the pit, but the explosion of two archangel's grace wiped out the better part of humanity, as you can see. Clearly you lot have some God hanging on your shoulders, because I guarantee you none of you fools would have survived that blast."

He sipped his drink with relish, closing his eyes in obvious ecstasy.

"Keep digging, gents. Ladies. And, a friendly reminder – if you die now, that's it. The world moves on, and you _stay_ dead."

* * *

><p>"He knows something," Dean began, clenching his bottle uncomfortably. He and Castiel shared a look, before he glanced to Sam, uncomfortably. "What's he not telling us?"<p>

"I for one would like to know what he meant by calling Reid a vessel?"

Reid smiled weakly. "Turns out Tobias Henkle was possessed. By Raphael. He was hoping to have a chat with me, but apparently a schizophrenic mind was more than he could control. Once I was killed, he high-tailed it out."

"But vessel?"

"Reid is my brother's true vessel," Gabriel supplied.

Hotch sank back, eyebrows raised. "And nobody thought to inform the rest of us?"

Gabriel rolled her eyes. "Calm down. We just discovered this last night, and are _trying_ to figure out what it means."

"I still would like to have been kept in the loop."

Morgan shook his head. "Whatever. Let's forget that, and talk about why we're all here?"

"That's the million dollar question," Dean said with a humorless chuckle.

Silence, heavy and thick, settled. "So, let me get this straight," Garcia began, before pointing to Gabriel. "Archangel. Vessel, vessel, angel, vessel."

"Yeah."

Her breath exploded like a punch. "I might not know as much as you guys, but even _I_ know this is bad."

"You're telling me, sister," Dean raised his beer in mock cheers.

"What about Adam?" Reid said suddenly, sitting forward. "Where does he fit in this?"

"Adam was not Michael's true vessel, though he attempted to use the boy. The bloodline left him strong enough to withstand an archangel's grace, but like most temporary vessels, Michael would have worn him out in very little time," Castiel supplied.

"So we have vessels and angels, all in one place," Hotch pointed out. "What if the angels upstairs find out about us?"

Gabriel and Sam shared a tense look. "They will most likely destroy all of us. If Crowley knows that our deaths will jump start time again, Heaven _has_ to know. They'll try to get things moving, and wait for a new round of vessels to come along and try again."

"Well, isn't that wonderful news," Morgan muttered, wryly. "What do we do now? That demon knows something, can we get it out of him?"

"No," Gabriel supplied, shaking her head slowly. "I wouldn't trust a word that comes out of his mouth."

"Like you're much better," Dean shot, and her head snapped up, eyes blazing as her gaze locked onto his.

"Don't tempt me, Dean. I'm not going to appease your delicate sensibilities. As far as I'm concerned, _dying_ for you lot wipes out any objections to my right to attend this little pow-wow."

Wisely, nobody opened their mouths. Sam sighed, loudly.

"We're going to have to keep searching. I think we should make a list of all the hunters we know, and raid their stashes. Bobby knows a lot of them. We'll have better luck that way. Splitting up might not be a terrible idea, anyway."

Reid hummed in agreement, before setting his beer bottle in the plastic bag they'd designated for trash. "I'm going to bed now. Adam's dog kept me up all night." Dean barked out a loose laugh, shaking his head as Reid strode back into the house.

"Knew I shouldn't have picked that damn thing up."

"He makes Adam happy, though," Castiel supplied.

"At least there's that."

The conversation turned to the FBI as the sun set, continuing on long after the moon lit the sky up.

* * *

><p>"My father wasn't around, either," Reid supplied. Adam gave him a cross-eyed glare as he brushed the golden retriever's coat, ignoring the hairs that lazily danced through the room.<p>

"I'm not trying to become your buddy, or nothing," he retorted.

Reid just shrugged. "I know. I can't possibly understand the things you've gone through. Absent father, I get, but to be taken from heaven and thrown into an apocalypse? That's more than you signed up for."

Adam shifted, uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, they promised I could go back, when I was done, I mean."

"What was it like?" Reid asked, tentatively.

"Heaven, or being possessed by an archangel?"

"Both?"

Adam snorted, and Reid smiled. Mulder's tail thumped against the bed, and he licked a long stripe up Adam's arm.

"Heaven was my best memories. There wasn't really any… time. Looking back, it seems kind of lame, but there… I was happy. Peaceful, I guess." He gave Reid a pointed glare, as if daring the older man to mock him for his word choice. Reid just waited. "Being possessed by Michael," he shuddered. "That hurt. I don't know if it's 'cause I'm not his true vessel, or whatever, but it's like standing next to the sun, except you aren't really allowed to pass out or die, you just kind of watch."

"Would you do it again?"

Adam swallowed, looking away, resting his hand on Mulder's back. "No. I hated John, but I guess that's a shitty reason to let a bunch of dicks destroy the planet. If the angels offered to take me back to heaven, I'd probably say yes… but the way everyone on this planet is just _gone_, that's not right."

"I have to agree with you there. The thought of almost seven billion lives, gone in an instant," Reid allowed his sentence to hang, unfinished. Adam shuddered.

Reid allowed the subject to drop, hoping Adam would question him again about his job at the FBI. The kid had spent _hours_ the night before asking about what he did. At first, Reid was a bit uncomfortable, revealing things he felt were better kept secret, but he didn't want to ruin this tentative truce with Adam before it got a chance to fully set in. And so he talked. The kid laughed, not unkindly, when he went off on tangents, slipping into the comfort of the facts and numbers swirling around in his head, and Reid grinned.

He knew that others thought him weird. He was a child prodigy, and until meeting his fellow BAU team, his only friend and family was a mother whose grip on reality was tentative at best. It was easier to take comfort in books, fiction or not, than to attempt to reach out.

Adam just kept prodding. He skimmed over the awkward facts, and dug into the real meat and bones of profiling serial killers and behavioral analysis.

As they drifted off to sleep that night, Reid hoped Adam would keep reaching out to him. The Winchester's half-brother seemed to be the most over-looked member of this makeshift family, and Reid swore he wouldn't fall into that same oversight.

* * *

><p>"You never know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?"<p>

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, princess," Crowley snapped. "I'm tired of waiting. Clearly your father is too. There's no other reason for this. I'm just helping it along, before your family gets cocky and takes us all out."

"And if this is just it? The apocalypse really happened, and maybe nobody won? This is what's left of Earth, and everyone's expected to just soldier on? Maybe Lucifer and Michael burned each other out."

"Then how do you explain your boys, still alive? Or Raphael missing? Lucifer would have torn Sam to shreds, not to mention everyone else in that graveyard."

Gabriel paused, before shrugging. "We can't assume anything. I know what's at stake here, and I'm pretty sure I know what Dad wants, but if you _tell them_, you change the rules."

"Hello, demon!" he gestured to himself, eyes flashing black with sarcasm. "I don't give a shit about your rules. I'm tired of waiting."

"Tired or not, asshole, I _will_ destroy you if you ruin it. The rules were in place for a good reason. My siblings changed the game on purpose, any more fuck-ups and this could all come crashing down."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Your father still has his sticky fingers in all the pies. Everyone dances to his tune. This is all under his control. Like I said, I'm tired of waiting. You are too. That's why you're still here, even if you could be on the chop block, too."

Gabriel drew in a slow breath. "I don't know. I should be. But I'm here, and they're not. If Dad wanted me gone, he'd have left me for dead."

"Morbid. If you'll excuse me, sweetheart, I have some loyal servants to check on. I'll let you know if they start heading your way."

She nodded, watching as the demon disappeared. Once, his presence would have pressed on her, darkness and hell pushing against her grace like oil and water.

The pagan god within her felt as comfortable breathing in the same air as both Crowley and Castiel, tasting both ozone and sulfur without qualms. Gabriel felt Castiel call out, and snapped her way back to Bobby's.

Instantly, the whimpers and cries she heard had her on alert. Sam was thrashing on the floor, Dean's eyes looking up with distrust as she moved to press a hand to his chest.

"Don't touch him," Dean snarled, his voice rough from sleep. Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Gabriel ignored him, pushing past and letting her skin meet Sam's.

She slipped easily into his mind, wincing at the smell of burning flesh that assaulted her senses. This was what Lucifer left in his vessel. The memories he had imparted on the one human in existence who could withstand him. Gabriel shook her head. The brother she had once known was clearly gone. Hell's tortures had ruined him so thoroughly that she barely recognized the creature that had once formed stars in his hands, breathing light into them just to see Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael smile.

It only took a second's concentration, before the depressing dreamscape was changed for a carnival. She smiled, turning to Sam, who sucked in a breath at the abrupt change.

"Gabriel?"

"In the flesh! Well, not really, I'm kinda sitting in your room. But close enough."

"What are you doing here? What did you do to me?"

The distrust stung. She didn't expect his unwavering loyalty, support, and love, but a little less hostility would've been nice. "You were having a nightmare? Excuse me for thinking that you might enjoy this a bit more," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Now, you going to stand here, or are we going to get some fries?"

Sam found himself in line at a Thrasher's, mouth drooling in anticipation. They'd gotten these fries, once, almost two decades ago, in Ocean City, Maryland, on one of their rare vacations. Around him, people milled, voices buzzed, but no conversation was truly discernible, no face completely visible. After several seconds of trying, he shrugged and gave up.

"Two medium fries," Gabriel called as the tall African man looked their way. He nodded, sweat pouring down his face as the humid air washed over them, little breezes carrying more voices and happy shouts and the sounds of a carnival in full swing.

Gabriel slapped cash on the counter, watching as Sam doused his bucket in a sickening amount of vinegar and salt, laughing as it dripped off the fries down his chin, onto his shirt. He just grinned back as they started walking.

To their left, roller coasters tore along tracks, children and adults alike shouting in fear and wonder. Around them, teenagers called out with varying levels of enthusiasm, advertising games and prizes and food.

Sam slowed, taking in the ocean to his right. The water was unnaturally clear, like he'd seen in pictures of the Caribbean. "Come on," Gabriel said, kicking her shoes off to jump into the sand. The breeze carried grains back into Sam's face, and he turned away, sheltering his eyes and his food. "Don't be such a pussy!" she shouted, and he stepped onto the beach. She stuffed the last of her fries into her mouth, the mess and trash disappearing without so much as a snap, and dove into the water, clothes and all.

"Enjoying yourself?" Sam shouted over the crashing waves. She shook her hair out of her head.

"You have some pretty interesting places in your head, Sammy," she called back. "I like this one." He sat out on the beach as Gabriel swam diving under waves, snapping up tubes and floating on the smaller ones, occasionally calling him into the water.

"No thanks, I'll keep myself where I can see my feet, thanks!"

"Pussy," she called out again, though she grinned and began swimming towards the shore. "Want to ride some rides?"

He shrugged, the fries long since gone. "Nah, never been much of a fan. This is fine."

She dropped down next to him, clothes dry once more, stretching out lazily on a bright green towel, drawing her knees up. Sam looked away when her skirt slid down towards the ground, exposing her legs.

"Lucifer killed my vessel," her voice was just a bit breathless, hesitant. She didn't meet Sam's eyes. "I'd had him for a few thousand years. He loved the Trickster. Some of my best pranks were when the two of us worked together. The pagan side of Loki, not so much; after watching his sons die in war, the blood sacrifices made him squirm. He hated the archangel. Said I tried too hard to be righteous. He made it easy to stop being Gabriel."

Sam breathed softly, eyes tracking the way Gabriel picked at the white skirt, tugging her shirt in the most nervous gestures he'd seen to date.

"I mourned for him, when I was brought back. I went to Heaven, outed myself to my family, to find him. He was happy, there, retelling our centuries together to his sons. When I left, all I could see was the destruction Raphael and Michael had caused. Heaven was no longer a joyful place, not for my family. I hadn't been home in hundreds of thousands of years. It's… it's like going back to the place where you grew up, only now a man who brutalizes his wife every night lives there. It's gone, forever, and that last grasp on childhood innocence you could have has been ripped apart."

She finally met his eyes. "My family is vast, infinite. In my father's absence, my siblings tore each other apart, flinging garrisons of lesser angels at each other like toys. The only time they bothered to unite was when Michael commanded them to free Dean from hell.

"So, I left. Again. I had a choice of two vessels who were willing to say yes. One was a man, but he was happy in his life. He loved his husband and their daughter. The other was Camille."

Sam quirked his lips a bit, before planting a small kiss to the back of her hand, impulsively.

"I won't lie, I like the body."

She grinned, shucking the confessional exterior, before sitting up and gripping his jaw firmly, her eyes straying to his mouth. The smile wavered, before falling off his lips.

"Gabriel, I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"You're infinite," he breathed, no longer meeting her gaze. She tilted his head a bit more, but he stubbornly refused to raise his eyes. "I'm a blip on your radar. Like I said, I like the body. I like _you_, even when you're an asshole. But I won't get sucked into that game again."

_I'm not Ruby_, she wanted to shout, before pulling her hand away from his, into her lap. She wanted to scream at him, to demand he give her the truth, to admit he was scared, but in the end, they just sat there, watching the ocean roll in, until the sun set, and she brushed a hand to his forehead.

When Sam woke, Dean and Cas were curled up together, and Gabriel rocked back on her heels.

"Castiel fell for Dean," she breathed. "Whatever your opinion of their relationship is, my little brother died for yours. If this is the only bit of happiness he gets, I _will_ do whatever it takes to make sure he gets to have it."

Sam nodded, understanding her warning. She stood, striding from the room. The sun was rising.


	7. Chapter 6

**Title**: This Divided Man  
><strong>Author<strong>: Ariathel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 overall  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 4660  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Chuck comes, and the hunt is on.  
><strong>AN:<strong> Let me know what you think :) *EDITED* For a mistake.

* * *

><p>Dean clenched his hands into a fist as Gabriel laid her hand on Sam's chest. The only thing keeping him from bodily slamming into the archangel was Castiel's unrelenting grip. In seconds, Sam's twitching calmed, his breathing deepened, and Dean let his breath out in a slow hiss.<p>

"I don't trust him."

"Sam, or Gabriel?"

"Gabriel. Him, her, _whatever_."

Castiel let go, sinking back onto the bed. Dean stood, sitting back on the edge. Gabriel was unnaturally still, frozen in a kneeling position over his brother's sleeping body.

"Gabriel has good intentions," Castiel murmured.

"How do you know that?"

Castiel's gaze sharpened. "My father would not have brought her back if her purposes were not pure. For all the dark things Gabriel did during her time as Loki, her heart was in the right place at the moment of her death. She died to protect you."

Dean cleared his throat. "I don't like the way she looks at Sam."

A hum was his only response. Dean turned, laying back out on the bed, stiffly. He kept his eyes on the two figures on the mattress on the floor.

"It is not my place to judge Gabriel's intentions towards Sam in specifics," Castiel murmured, laying down next to Dean. His hand sought out Dean's, squeezing. The hunter finally turned, pulling him into a chaste kiss. "She may care for him more than I expected."

"Sam's not gonna fall for that trick twice."

Castiel stiffened, and Dean immediately realized his mistake.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he whispered, apology tasting bitter on his tongue. "I just… Sam got burned once already. He's not gonna trust Gabriel."

"That decision is Sam's, and his alone," Castiel chided.

Dean closed his eyes, forcing himself not to stare at his sleeping brother all night.

* * *

><p>The knock at the door startled them all. Hotch shared a bewildered look with Sam, before Dean cocked his gun, stepping out of the overcrowded kitchen. He was happy to not take in Gabriel's gloating face as the humans dug thankfully into her breakfast feast. The others swarmed his back as he opened the door a crack, before lowering his weapon and throwing it open the rest of the way.<p>

Chuck looked like shit. A beat-up station wagon, several hundred miles past the end of its life, stood smoking in the drive. He clutched a bottle of what looked to be vodka in one hand, the other holding a stack of notebooks, hands stained with ink, matching streaks across his temple and cheeks and neck.

"Please," he muttered drunkenly. "I can't keep _seeing_ this shit. Nobody really cares when I have your nightmares."

Dean stepped back, allowing the prophet to stagger in.

"Chuck!" Sam called, striding forward, catching the bottle as it slipped toward the ground, Morgan catching him as he swayed unsteadily.

"Thanks, Morgan," he muttered, before the notebooks slid out of his slack grip, his body only just saved from following.

It took several minutes for them to rearrange him on the couch, Bobby having long since left the room. A vein throbbed in his temple, and Sam briefly contemplated how many more refugees he could handle before he hit his breaking point.

"How did he know my name?" Morgan asked pointedly, taking in the rumpled pajamas and bathrobe, his breath reeking of alcohol and gum.

"He's a prophet," Castiel murmured.

"Excuse me, a _what_?"

"A prophet. Of the Lord," Gabriel snapped, standing back, arms crossed under her breasts. "He shouldn't _be_ here."

"No shit," Dean shouted back. "What else are we gonna do with him, huh?"

"I don't know!" she exploded, flinging her arms out. "Send him away, _anywhere_ but here!"

Sam whirled on her. "If Chuck's alive, the angels _and_ demons will be out for him. We couldn't _ever_ run far enough from them. Want to know where the Winchesters are? Just find the man who has a direct line to our _every move_."

She frowned. "In case you've forgotten, prophets have an angelic bodyguard. Want a direct line to the Winchesters? Just wait."

"Raphael was his guard," Castiel cut in. "With Raphael gone, and heaven in chaos, it is likely he is unprotected."

"Likely isn't good enough," she shot. "I _swear_, if this gets us killed, I'm _never_ helping you again."

Chuck sat up abruptly, sucking in a deep breath, teeth clamping shut audibly. He began shuddering, all over, gagging into the empty air until a wastebasket materialized under his chin. What was likely nothing but liquor was vomited up. All but Sam and Dean took a step back.

"Don't worry," he stuttered through chattering teeth, eyes wildly glancing around. "I've got _nothing_ to help me now. Just some fucking visions and permanent carpel tunnel. I don't think my hand's ever going to recover. I'd take a fucking typewriter over this shit."

"Chuck, you need to drink water," Sam began, lifting a glass to the man on the couch. Chuck eyed it suspiciously. Sam opened his mouth, before Chuck let out a bitter laugh.

"It's well water, and you guys add the appropriate amount of bleach to purify it. Trust me. I _saw_ that discussion," he let out harshly. He gulped it down, wiping his mouth, glancing around. "Morgan. Hotch. Garcia. Reid." His eyes lingered on Reid, before closing. "This was easier when I only had to deal with this lot over here. You make my head hurt, Reid."

He laid back, hands folded over his eyes.

"Do you-"

"No. I don't know anything. I'm only getting it in bits and pieces, anyway. Except the part where _someone_ decided to change the game. Then I got a _whole_ lot of FBI. Their nightmares are almost as bad as yours, except I can't shoot serial killers with rock salt."

"Can anyone explain what's going on here?"

"Didn't you hear? I'm a prophet. Of the Lord. Writing the Winchester Gospels. You guys got sucked in, front and center. I've got _notebooks_ on your lives. And yes, Reid, I saw that too. Don't worry, just makes you one of the family."

Reid understood that Chuck was speaking of his death. The callous way they treated the act which he had once considered final made him shudder. To have seen the end of the line so many times that it was just another bump in the road made him suddenly want out, to be safe back at Quantico, drawing lines on a whiteboard.

The only sounds in the room were the echoes of Bobby slamming things around, and Adam shouting for Mulder outside.

"So… you're writing…" Garcia began, hesitantly.

"The Winchester Gospels. One day, they'll be a part of what you call the Bible. You will too." He began heaving, ink stained hands rubbing new lines into his face.

"Chuck, you need to rest," Castiel interrupted, pressing two fingers to the man's forehead. The prophet slumped, snoring lightly, hands falling away from his face.

"This is kind of a lot to take in," Hotch murmured. "He's writing a book. Of the Bible. And I guess we're a part of it, too?"

"You will be. Give it a few centuries, humans are slow."

"Great," Morgan replied shortly. He was pacing behind the couch, hands twitching, as though he wanted nothing more than to clench them into a fist. "What's he doing here?"

"With Raphael gone, I would assume Chuck felt it prudent to come directly to us. We can offer the best protection against Heaven and Hell. If either side got a hold of him, they would be able to find out any of our whereabouts with little effort."

Bobby stormed back into the room. "If you ladies are done with your slumber party, we have _work_ to do."

The issue of Chuck was left alone, for the time being, while Bobby spread out his map of the United States once more. There had already been a large number of dots made with sharpie markers, known hunter hideouts and stashes and homes. There were few hunters, alive or not, who had a larger network than Bobby did.

"We're going to have to split up. These trips'll take a month, at least," he began, mapping out optimal routes. "I'm assuming you two angels can talk to each other without phones?"

Castiel and Gabriel shared a glance, before nodding.

"Then we all split up, two groups. I don't care who the hell goes with who, but we're out of here by morning."

Sam agreed to travel with Gabriel, leaving Dean to ride with Castiel, discomfort flitting across his face at the prospect of splitting up with his brother. There was little other way around this. Too few hunters to go around, and not enough angels to communicate with each other.

Hotch, Morgan, and Garcia agreed to travel with Dean and Castiel, while the other three would ride with Sam and Gabriel. Bobby had two working mini-vans they could take, picking up other vehicles along the way, if necessary.

Suddenly, a shout from the other room sent them running back into the living room, where Chuck was scrambling, gathering his notebooks.

"We have to go, _now_," he shouted. "They're coming, I don't know how many-"

At that moment, Crowley appeared, his crooked tie and grimaced scowl the only indications of his irritation. "Demons are on the move. I can't stop them," he snapped. "You have less than an hour, and I can't let them see me with you if you want _any_ insight."

Gabriel snapped her fingers, and Sam found himself behind the wheel of the SUV he'd taken, back in Virginia. "Drive!" she shouted. He didn't need to be told twice. He cranked the engine on, thankful she'd given him keys, and slammed the car into drive, gravel crunching and flying as he hit the gas. In his rearview, he could see two vehicles peeling out behind them. "Go right," Chuck cried from the back seat. Sam wrenched the wheel, trusting the others to follow.

The prophet's directions had them travelling on dirt roads that were little more than ruts in the ground, through wilting fields of corn, and across green lawns just a few inches away from overgrown.

In the mirror behind him, Sam could see a dark cloud of oil and smoke over what was clearly Bobby's house. He briefly mourned the loss of the place he'd called home, before thanking their luck that they didn't have to fight their way out of this one. A bright bolt of light went off, resembling the mushroom cloud of a bomb, and Sam shuddered, hoping the angels were too occupied with the demons to follow them.

In an hour's time, Gabriel and Chuck deemed it safe to stop, under the shade of thick trees, sheltered for the time being. The two other vehicles pulled up behind them, figures pouring out.

"What are we going to do now?" Reid was the first to ask. Bobby shot Crowley a nasty look, while the demon simply bared his teeth.

"Stick to the original plan," Dean offered. "We need those books. We split up from here. Bobby, you still got the map?"

Gabriel impatiently snapped it into the old man's hands.

Bobby glanced around, before neatly ripping it in half, handing one piece to Dean, before folding the other up and pocketing it. "You guys going to be okay?" Hotch asked breathlessly, his face a few shades too pale. Sam remembered him stepping out of the driver's seat of the last vehicle, and cringed with regret.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy's got his big boy panties on. Let's go, FBI. Sammy, talk to me when you get to Linda and Jeff's."

The third car was left, abandoned, as the two vehicles sped towards the highway.

* * *

><p>Sam found his second time on the empty roads less irritating than the first. Adam and Reid chatted in the far back seat about Reid's work in the FBI, Mulder a constant – and well-mannered – companion, Bobby kept up a steady stream with Sam in the front, while Chuck and Gabriel sat in awkward silence in the middle seat.<p>

"When this is over, when the rest of humanity returns, do you think you would enjoy entering that line of work?" Reid asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping proper boundaries. He was rewarded with a shrug.

"Not sure, to be honest. I guess I'm technically dead. I mean, I know dead doesn't mean much to this family, but I don't want to be a hunter."

Reid nodded empathetically. "I would imagine not. This lifestyle is not for the faint of heart. Seeing the ramifications of hunting, from both sides, I cannot say I envy your half-brothers." Reid was careful to call Sam and Dean half-brothers, or Winchester's, in Adam's presence. For all that John Winchester's blood ran through this boy's veins, he would most likely never truly fit into this family. There was too much bitterness and abandonment, without the firm history of a life grown up together as Sam and Dean had, to emerge the other side as brothers. "They have essentially resigned themselves to a life on the run, without any of the comforts that the rest of us take for granted from stability."

Adam just nodded. "I guess it depends. Part of me wants to go back to heaven still, but looking back, it was kind of dull." He turned red, and shot Gabriel a worried look. She ignored him. "I'll have to see."

Reid smiled. "If this works out in our favor, I would be happy to assist you, if it's the path you wish to choose. My name will carry some weight within the FBI, and the BAU specifically. No doubt, with proper education and inclination, Hotch would offer you a position."

Adam's answering smile lifted his heart.

"You two are cute," Gabriel interjected from the front, turning on her knees so that she hung over the back seat. Adam visibly retreated into himself, and Reid felt a flash of irritation. For all the archangel's supposed intuition, she didn't understand when she wasn't wanted.

Gabriel, in response, rolled her eyes. "Reid, I know when I'm not wanted, I just don't give a shit." The smile she gave him was part mocking and part baring of her teeth. He met her gaze. He should be afraid of this creature, that much he knew. From what he'd learned, few creatures were more powerful than an _archangel_. However, he felt he'd gotten to know her a bit better, and while he still was unable to label her as angel or pagan god, she was wavering on the non-threatening ally side. Gabriel curled her lip. "You humans always want to label me. Don't you get it? I'm not really anything. I'm just Gabriel. Hotch expects me to be righteous, Morgan expects the pious creatures he learned of in Sunday School, Garcia desperately wants a girlfriend, and you just want to understand me. Your human mind cannot comprehend me. Get it?"

Reid just raised an eyebrow, and she drew in a long-suffering breath, turning back to Adam. "Milligan, if we make it to the other side of this, I can make sure your death didn't happen. You can go to college, live the Winchester dream life of picket-fence and 2.5 kids, whatever."

"Thanks," he muttered, and she settled her gaze on Mulder, watching as the dog's tail twitched slightly, not sure if he should wag it or not. She held out her hand, just watching his eyes, waiting, until he bent down and sniffed it, before cautiously nudging the digits. She offered a small pet, before returning her hand to its original position, waiting until Mulder nudged it again. Within a few short minutes, the dog's tail was thumping, and he was leaning into her touches.

"Can you talk to them?" Adam asked quietly, gesturing to the golden retriever. Gabriel snorted.

"They don't speak a language. Mulder understands that I'm not human, but I _look_ human, so he's confused. This is just good old fashioned dog psychology. Let him dictate the attention he gets from me, and make sure the attention I _do_ give him is irresistible, and he'll come back for more."

Chuck turned around in his seat, wiping an ink stained hand across his forehead, brushing hair aside. "So, guys, any bets on how long it takes before someone tries to kill someone else in this car ride?"

Reid furrowed his brow, while Adam laughed outright. Gabriel grimaced.

"That's unfair, Chuck," Sam shot from the front seat. "You probably _know_ that answer."

"I bet it's Sam," Gabriel pronounced loudly. Sam curled his lip in the mirror and slammed on the brakes, ignoring the protests from the car's occupants as Gabriel slipped from the seat, crashing into the back of Sam's seat, scrambling to hold herself up.

"Turns out the answer was a few seconds," Chuck interjected humorously as Gabriel pushed herself up, reaching around to smack Sam on the shoulder.

"Put on your seat belt," Sam shot, and Gabriel flipped him the bird.

"I'm an archangel, I don't give two shits about seatbelts. The only thing left alive that can kill me is my father," she snapped back. The car fell into silence once more, watching as the sun dipped low. A snap of Gabriel's fingers, and the speakers began playing a low tribal drumbeat, chants in languages Reid couldn't identify, most likely long gone.

Gabriel sank into the seat, her eyes closed, as the music continued.

By the time the sun was barely more than a sliver in their rear view mirror, the stretch ahead of them dark, stars barely beginning to peek through the inky blackness, Sam had picked a suitable hotel room.

Chuck grudgingly insisted he share with Bobby, claiming that the proximity to the old man was best, "Bobby's mind is the least painful place, and I'll take him over you lot any day." Bobby had grumbled, but accepted his duty as the prophet's watcher, for the night, and popped his tin can of fruit and the beer they'd swiped from the last gas station they'd raided.

Adam and Reid willingly bunked in the middle, feeling safer surrounded by hunters and angels, leaving Gabriel and Sam in the final room.

The archangel slipped into the hunter's dreams the moment his breathing deepened.

"Should I bother asking why you're here?"

The landscape was green, grass and trees, stretching on for eternity in all directions. The blue sky met the horizon in a hazy lack of clarity. Sam stopped trying to see it, figuring this was like the faces in the carnival.

"Please, Sammy," Gabriel retorted. She looked perturbed – almost hurt. Sam shook that observation away, knowing that he really didn't _know_ the archangel, and couldn't discern her emotions by a few glimpses of expression. "After all this, you still don't trust me?"

"It's not you, not really," he murmured, shrugging and staring off over her shoulder.

"Ruby?" she offered up, and Sam stiffened. Gabriel gritted her teeth. "Okay, you fucked up. You let my insane brother out of jail, you chose a demon bitch over your brother, and you started the apocalypse." Sam's jaw was clenched so tightly, the muscles twitched. "Get _over it_, you dumb shit." His eyes flew up to hers, widening in disbelief. "You think we don't all make mistakes? Yours are hardly anything to brag about."

"I started the fucking apocalypse," Sam shot back, his shoulders hunching. Gabriel wanted to punch him, but kept her hands twisted behind her back.

"So what," she snapped. "You want to compare horror stories? What you do is you accept it, and _move on_. These things are small fries compared to the whole picture."

"What is the whole picture, Gabriel?" Sam finally shouted. "This? Humanity wiped out, a bunch of misfits and real-world rejects trying to fix it? Christ, Gabriel, humanity is the only thing that made all this worthwhile, and it's _all gone_."

She gave him a small smile. "That's where you're wrong, Sammy. Humanity is resilient. One day, this crazy race will stretch to the _stars_." Sam's jaw slipped open. "You guys are like cockroaches, not monkeys. You're impossible to kill. For all my family's big talk, I think we're becoming obsolete, and that scares them. One day, homo sapiens will no longer be a species. You'll intermix with other creatures, you'll adapt to life on other planets, and you'll _evolve_."

The light dancing in her eyes made Sam want, for the first time. He clenched his hands in his pockets.

"We angels and gods are _everything_ on this planet, but we, one day, will be just as lost as you, moving through space and heaven, telling stories of the glory days. My siblings don't want that, they want to keep humanity on this planet, where we walk through you like kings. I'm kind of looking forward to the future. I want to see where this little species goes. One day, I'll walk through the stars and I won't be able to tell whose ancestors came from Earth, and who didn't."

She flashed him a dazzling smile. Sam swallowed.

"Let's go have fun."

They were back at the carnival. Gabriel was back in her knee-length skirt and tank top, bright blue bikini standing out through the outfit. They walked up and down the boardwalk, sun warming Sam's skin as they ate fries, and a funnel cake, watching as Gabriel devoured cotton candy like her stomach was a black hole.

"Want to see who's a better shot?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows and pointing to the balloons and darts at a stand, flanked by stuffed animals and goldfish in bags. A teenage boy yawned, before straightening his back as they approached. The closer they got, the less distinct his features were as he recited the cost, his tone just a shade away from bored out of his mind.

"No cheating," Sam intoned, and Gabriel gave him a mock shocked look.

"I would _never_!"

"Bullshit."

She grinned. "Of course, I would. But I promise, no cheating, on this game, this round."

Sam rolled his eyes, watching as she picked up the darts, testing them out in her grip, before firing all three off rapidly, loud pops accompanying each hit. "Hell yeah!"

The boy intoned the prizes, before offering her three more darts for the next level up. Sam agreed to take this round, popping all three balloons. Gabriel bypassed her turn, and he went again, claiming the snow white tiger hanging from the ceiling.

"Is this real?" he asked as they walked on. Gabriel cocked her head, scrunching her nose.

"More or less. Why, you trying to keep the tiger?"

Sam grinned. "Sure." She snapped her fingers and it disappeared. Sam knew it would be there when he woke, and pushed the sentimentality away. They stepped on the sand, the water once more crystal clear, waves gently lapping at the shore. Sam laid out on a blanket, pointedly looking away while Gabriel stripped, before running to the ocean.

She swam for a half an hour, easily, before walking back up, laying out next to Sam on a blanket of her own.

They sat in silence, until Sam's eyes suddenly flew open. The waves crashed ferociously against the shore, and angry storm clouds rolled in. The temperature dipped, and one glance at Gabriel's face let him know that it was time to go.

"Demons," she muttered, before snapping.

Sam sat up in the motel room, disoriented for a brief second, before he grabbed Ruby's knife and his holy water.

Gabriel held up a hand. "There's three of them, they tracked us from Bobby's. Everyone else is waking up." She cursed, low and slow. "Let's go."

Sam burst from the room, Gabriel at his back, taking care to duck as a thick branch crashed into the wall where his head had just been.

"Oh, look, you came right out to us!" the first snarled, tossing the splintered wood and throwing himself at Sam, fists flying.

Before the second and third could join in, the other doors opened, and Bobby came running, followed closely by Reid. Adam and Chuck appeared to be hiding just behind the doorframes, and Sam hoped they had all remembered their Devil's Traps and salt lines. Mulder growled and snarled, but Adam kept him restrained behind the door frame, where they were hopefully safe. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gabriel restraining the third member, Bobby occupying the second while Reid began the exorcism.

"Not so fast, boy," the redhead demon snarled from Bobby's side, throwing its arm out. A handful of rocks from the parking lot shot in their direction, several nailing Reid and Bobby in the face.

Reid snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide with pain, while Bobby swore and manhandled his demon through Sam's doorway, trapping it in the devil's trap Sam had laid before going to sleep. Just as Bobby cocked his rifle, Sam ducked another blow from the demon in front of him, knocking the man back, allowing Bobby to unload a round into him. Its eyes flashed black, before scrambling backwards as Gabriel managed to get a hand pressed to the forehead of the third, the creature screaming as it died.

She slumped, gasping for breath as Sam took off after the demon racing away, stabbing the body in the back with his knife, not even bothering to watch it die as he yanked the blade out, turning and sprinting back to the third, still contained within the devil's trap, watching as Reid finished the final chants of the exorcism ritual, groaning.

The four slumped together against the wall, poking at the body in Sam's room. Reid closed his eyes against the sight of Sam rolling it over, blood pouring out of the human's mouth, eyes wide and glassy.

"Please, don't tell me that I-" he whispered.

"Demons ride their meat suits hard," Bobby said, his harsh tone booking no argument. "Few make it out in one piece."

Reid swallowed audibly, sinking to the ground, letting his head thump back. He pulled his shirt down, exposing the dark tattoo above his heart, inspecting it for any cracks that would allow a demon through. There were none.

Bobby turned to Gabriel, leaning back against the railing in front of them, his shotgun at his feet. "How come you were so tired?"

She shot him a glare. "Normally, with almost seven billion lives, a tiny flare of my grace wouldn't mean much more than perhaps an overenthusiastic congregation, especially if those in heaven weren't watching too hard. With so little life on this planet, it took _everything_ to kill that demon without sending up a flare the size of an atomic bomb. If the host finds us, we're dead. And I guarantee you, they're looking, especially after that flare-up earlier during our grand exit."

Sam sank down next to her, his exhaustion clear in the way he slumped onto her shoulder.

"Come on, Sam," she murmured. "We can't stay here. We've gotta head into the city, grab another car."

He grumbled, the few short hours of sleep inadequate in the face of two adrenaline rushes in less than a day.

"Boy, get yer butt up," Bobby snapped, already stepping into his room. "I'm driving the rest of the way, you can take your nap in the backseat of the car with your girlfriend here."

Sam mustered the energy to glare at Bobby, as the older man threw his gun and what little belongings they'd had when bailing from the salvage yard so quickly. The group trudged to the car, Sam sprawling out on the backseat, his legs curling up against the window uncomfortably, his head nudging Gabriel's thigh. She sighed, before hauling him up until he was resting against her lap, head braced under a pillow, his knees stretched out just a bit more comfortably.

After a vehicle switch, the only sounds in their new SUV were the sounds of Chuck scribbling, Mulder's panting, and someone's light snores.


	8. Chapter 7

**Title**: This Divided Man  
><strong>Author<strong>: Ariathel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 overall  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 6928  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: In which Sam dreams an archangel's dreams  
><strong>AN:<strong> Sorry it's taken me so long to post this, between the holidays and dealing with finding out my cat is in heart failure, this chapter took entirely too long to write.

* * *

><p>There was a time when they just <em>were<em>. Before they were archangels and God, before lines were drawn, loyalties demanded, offered, and broken. Existing together, tied together so inexplicably that words were unnecessary. Joy was shared, love, awe, wonder, amazement. Pain was a foreign concept. Time didn't exist, neither did space. Dimensions were irrelevant, everything was infinite and them.

Awareness came slowly.

There was one voice, filled with a type of awe and happiness the others couldn't match. Looking back, it was that paternal wonder, the first look of a father upon his child, having just been birthed from the womb of a woman who had sheltered a _life_ within her small body, keeping the infant safe until the world could be laid at its feet. It was their Father, their creator, the first. He adored this being. When the brushes of that feeling caressed the edges he slowly began to define as himself, an inexplicable contentment washed over him.

The emotions slowly split apart. He no longer felt so much crashing over himself, as though it were all a cacophony of voices within himself. Distinct _others_ came.

Heaven came next. He still didn't quite grasp the concept of _place_, not yet. Heaven began as nothing more than a thought. A communal home. It felt like home because it felt like the others and their Father.

It wasn't until other places were created that senses developed. Touch, the feel of water. He submerged himself within it just to understand this creation, the fibers of his being mingling with the molecules of water, cascading through them, gently prodding their energies, understanding the wonders that held them together.

Heaven felt like the water, crystalline and flowing and ebbing through his being.

Sight came, and with it, the distinction between both Heaven and Earth. He couldn't see his siblings right away, but they could see the distinction between home and this wondrous new place.

He enjoyed being home, and the journey down to this new world. It felt like funneling himself, condensing himself until he was finite, with beginning and end. The reversal was freedom, though no less wondrous.

The sound of waves crashing was the first true noise he heard.

Saltwater was his first taste, his first smell.

Heaven did not offer the same stimulations. It held no smells, no tastes, no sounds. He preferred this world, watching as his Father shaped whatever came to his fancy. Plants, animals, they were each appreciated and cherished as parts of himself. He was created in the same manner as they, with attention and patience and a piece of the life force that was his Father.

Time became a reality. It wasn't until many turns of this planet that he realized the pattern. The way it spun was the same, unchanging. It moved through the void of space in the same pattern, over and over.

The life on the planet grew, morphed, and changed.

Then, his father created humans.

They were beautiful, his best creation yet. They were everything his father loved about himself and his firstborn children, condensed into an infinitesimal amount of space. And still, he watched.

* * *

><p>Sam sat up, gasping sharply, eyes desperately adjusting to the darkness around him. His body ached. He stretched his arms out, hearing the joints pop, feeling the muscles protest as he pushed himself further and further. That feeling, of being funneled into dimensions, shuddered through his body.<p>

He felt too large for his own skin. He was contained, and for a heartbeat, he could _feel_ the blood rushing through his veins, the pulsing of his organs, the stretching and bunching and shifting of the fibers of his muscles.

With a breath, he was simply Sam Winchester, boy king, sitting in a dusty bed in a dumpy motel in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.

"What'd you dream about, Sammy?"

Her voice was a sharp reminder that it _was_, in fact, just a dream. Sam shrank back into himself, letting go of that infinite feeling as aftershocks of a vivid dream.

"I think I dreamt about the creation of the Earth," he murmured, sinking back into the pillows. His heartbeat was, once more, a more manageable cadence, his breathing no longer a panicked gasping for sustenance.

"And what exactly would you know about that?" she snapped. He pinpointed her voice coming from the chairs propped in the corner of the room, springs squeaking as she shifted.

"I was… infinite," he murmured. "Earth was amazing. I loved going back and forth, between Heaven and Earth. It was like taking my body and squeezing it through a funnel. The water, though. I loved being a part of it."

"Overactive imagination," Gabriel murmured, her chair groaning once more as she stood, pacing into the moonlight and standing at the side of his bed. Two fingers raised before he could back away, and he slipped from awareness with a gentle snap.

* * *

><p>Gabriel felt a chill settle into her as it had never done before. Her vessel's heart pounded in an annoying human reaction to being blindsided with Sam's mutterings like a slap to the face. She rubbed her hands up and down the flesh of her arms, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her skin puckered into goose bumps.<p>

Beneath her gaze, Sam slept, without dreams.

Her flippancy had been carelessly thrown back into her face with Sam's mutterings. That feeling, she knew too well. The lesser angels didn't understand it. In the beginning, when it was just the archangels, Father, and the Earth, the lines between the tangible and intangible were blurred.

She knew, what Sam was describing, was grace. That first piece of themselves, they had intermingled and existed as one for seconds, eons, without beginning. They had been one, once, and nobody knew when they branched off into separate entities.

The transition between Heaven and Earth, though, it _was_ like a funnel. Taking grace, something beyond dimension and measurement, and _pushing_ it into reality, felt like condensing everything into a package.

Sam snored.

She sucked in a ragged breath.

Lucifer had most loved that feeling, the racing. They _all_ marveled in it, like children. There was no knowledge to gain, simply observations made and forgotten, until they understood what it was to remember.

Lucifer used to explode into existence, like a comet racing toward the planet, hurtling into the water with a speed that should have knocked the planet off its orbit, but had little more impact than a splash.

As he hit the water, his grace used to explode, like a firework under the surface, racing the circumference of the planet, coalescing and breaking apart and coming back together, before streaking towards the stars, that streak of golden light expanding just beyond her awareness.

Language was still beyond them, though they were learning to make sounds. They were beginning to communicate, little more than grunts and noises and whines of happiness. But they were learning.

Sam was dreaming Lucifer's memories.

Gabriel sank deep into herself until looking out her eyes felt like trying to see through a telescope from a hundred yards away.

And still, Sam slept.

* * *

><p>The devil's traps and salt lines at Linda and Jeff's did little to stop Sam as he crept through the stale house. The booby-trapped doors, he expected and dismantled with ease. The door to the basement was warded heavily, booby-trapped viciously, and most likely to be a futile search. Bobby beckoned Reid and Adam to follow him down the stairs, just in case. Sam and Gabriel crept up the stairs, slipping through the deadlier wards and traps.<p>

The stairs creaked vulgarities beneath Sam's mass, nothing but the quiet shuffling of shoes on carpet alerting him to Gabriel's presence behind him.

He stopped before the master bedroom. Chuck had warned him not to go in there – the few weapons hidden there weren't worth the time and effort it would take to get in there. The bedroom he assumed they wanted came next.

Gabriel murmured in Enochian, her voice low, an unnecessary caution, but a habit that still shouted _human_.

They slipped past the door frame. Sam felt the slither of magics over his skin, and shuddered, desperately trying to shake the feeling like a skin. He felt Gabriel's eyes on his back.

"Chuck said the books were behind a false wall," he murmured, before gently pressing against various panels of the wall, searching for give. "He said to watch out for the-"

A clicking was his only warning, before his breath was knocked out of his lungs and fire raced along his spine, slipping into a sharp knife-edge sensation at the base of his skull. He blinked, sucking in air, his spine bowing as he felt weight press him down.

He focused on Gabriel pressing him into the floor, her teeth gritted in a snarl as he inhaled lungful's of what appeared to be dust. It settled into the archangel's hair as she pushed herself off him, kicking his knees in the process. "Next time, dumb shit, watch what you're poking."

The pieces of wall that had exploded outward when Sam foolishly triggered another trap now coated the floor and their bodies. Gabriel snapped herself clean and reached into the space between bolts of wood, finally yanking out what appeared to be several satchels of books.

"This all you need?" she raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the tomes on the floor.

Sam glanced around, briefly contemplating exploring more hiding spots, but reconsidered the option as Gabriel glared at him. "No, I think that's what we came for."

He shook dust out of his hair, desperately trying to keep it from traveling underneath his clothes as they walked back down the stairs, with little success.

"The hell did you get into, son?" Bobby shot with a grin as Sam shouldered past the others waiting in the front door.

"Sammikins had a date with some drywall!" Gabriel offered, trailing behind, joining in Bobby's laughter. Sam ignored them all as he shouldered the heavy sacks of books.

* * *

><p>Reid didn't know if growing up a hunter would have made the tome any more understandable. His crash course in the supernatural had included more of the "how to kill" side and less of the "why". He didn't want to interrupt Bobby's tirade about Jeff's paranoia – pointedly ignoring Sam's mentioning of the man's own obsessive and nearly impenetrable wards – and he certainly didn't want to ask Gabriel.<p>

She was the most unsettling presence he'd ever come across. First glance told you she wasn't exactly sane. Beneath the youth and attractiveness, she wore her body like a skin, a costume to be taken off at the end of a night of trick-or-treating. Her eyes had a way of losing focus and slipping into something truly otherworldly. The way she could physically fill a room while remaining the tiniest person in it went beyond her vibrant demeanor, into a force that sometimes pushed Reid off his feet.

The only two tomes deemed worthwhile were a difficult read, even for a scholar such as himself. He bookmarked passages to come back to, once he had a better understanding of just what he was _supposed_ to understand.

_- that they may become as they were intended, whole and complete once more. Primitive though their essences were created, unable to rejoice in the splendor and wonder of the Youngest, the intertwining of essences promoted true Thought and afforded the Vision its own breath and life._

_Upon the acceptance of both past and present, history and future will collide into what will come to be_.

Reid blinked. If he was given to cursing, he'd have a few select words for the passages. He marked it with a strip of torn paper, and continued on.

* * *

><p>He knew what it was to step out of time. The Earth continued its rotations and circuits, and though it cost him, he bounded forward. He watched as his Father's creatures wailed and moaned and tore apart all of creation. What was once a joyous refuge, a second home only to the sanctity and peace of his Father's Heaven, became a wasteland under their greedy and bloody fingertips. They cursed His name, sobbed tears of guilt and anger, polluting the soil.<p>

He felt something dark stir within. Here, tucked away in this unknown future, out of step from the now, the first stirrings of anger twitched within his Grace.

They knew, now, what it was to walk as mortals, to form into human shape and step on feet still tender with newness.

He resented.

The lesser angels were coming to exist, the next phase of Father's creation, and he paid them little mind. His disdain had little to do with ego, and everything to do with comfort. It was hard to relate to these creatures, to watch them and wonder if he had existed like that once, new and unshaped and infantile.

Michael questioned his sullenness. Though they had experienced petty squabbles and pangs of hurt, this new emotion rolled through him, uncontrolled and resented. He would loathe these creatures his Father created.

Raphael did not care to understand his troubles. Gabriel, the youngest by an unknown time, watched with curious eyes and a quivering soul.

It was with Michael that he quarreled.

When the first humans were created, he wanted nothing more than to destroy them, to save this wondrous home from their undeserving hands.

His fights with Michael were both first and last, and it was that final blow from his beloved brother that sent him spiraling.

The feeling of traveling was no longer a free fall, but a sucking motion, down and down and down into icy cold.

He was alone, utterly and completely in this prison that stank of Michael's self-righteousness, the seals scattered across time and the planet. He railed against the absolute void of sensory input. There was no ocean to hear, no fruit to taste, nor sand to touch.

It was utter emptiness, and where time had once been a passing notion, it now trapped him.

The landscape around him rolled with fury and fire, matching the betrayal that burned his heart. It was in these moments that Hell began to shape, as he struggled, again and again, to see beyond the confines of this cage. Though he was horrified by the knowledge of the destruction to come on Earth, he could not see how the taint within his Grace spread beyond the walls of his confinement. There was little consideration for the things here, that which was created by his dark magics.

"I can't say this was your fault," came a familiar muttering. He whirled, repulsed by the screams surrounding him. This landscape was filling with the unworthy, and he wanted to crush them, to blot out their existence, and to punish them for what filth they had brought upon the world.

A part of him recognized the pull of his brother, wrapped in a tiny woman.

His mind struggled to name her, _Gabriel_, his sister. His sibling, the youngest. His eyes wildly cast about again.

A man was eating his own flesh. He stared, head cocked to the side, unable to comprehend why he would do such a thing. Over and over, the man gnawed the epidermis off any available surface, plying bits off with sharp instruments. Red blood glistened on his lips, gushing endlessly from gaping holes in his midsection.

The man's eyes, still intact, flashed black. Lucifer did not know if he should be pleased or not. The screams reached a new height, and he blinked. A woman used needles to flay the skin of the cock off a man hanging by hooks, extending from beyond and slowly, slowly, tugging the bones and muscles apart from each other with sickening tears.

The sounds of Hell rose and fell in crescendos, screams, cries, pleading, tearing, burning, and choking. Lucifer turned once again to Gabriel. She stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, and he tried to understand why she was here.

"Hell was never meant to be such torment," she murmured. "Heaven was all the beauty in life, for those who filled their existence with good. Hell was meant to be their darkest parts, the loneliness and hatred they brought on others, not this… torture, this sick lust for pain. I don't know why Michael cast you out. His decision was rash. We were all so young; we couldn't deal with the pain. True emotions ripped us to pieces. You and Michael tore into each other as only the closest of siblings could ever do."

"This place is mine," Lucifer intoned, turning once more to the carnage. He didn't understand if it was his place, or his creation. Either way, he didn't care. A distant part of him rolled with nausea, but he just watched.

"You rebelled against Father, and Michael took his pain out on you. Humanity tries so hard to do it right."

"I see nothing but stinking filth," he spat. These were the least desired. They were a curse upon his lips, an abomination, rotting mass infested with maggots and disease. These souls brought this torment upon themselves, their minds a treasure trove of horrors. This was his Father's pride and joy?

"You can't see beyond, what's out there."

Gabriel stepped back. The emotions in her eyes suddenly disgusted him, and Lucifer lunged, screaming. His voice joined the chorus. He wanted to rip those pitying eyes out, slit her throat for speaking vile words. He had done _nothing wrong_ but love his Father the most, and his reward was this shit hole of fire and pain.

She flickered, and he crashed to the floor.

* * *

><p>Sam choked, vomit already seeping into the floor, mingling with his tears as he tried desperately to clear his airways.<p>

"Shh," Gabriel shushed him, her hands holding back his hair as his body shook. His shoulder and hip burned where he had tumbled off the mattress, his nose dripping blood and snot from the force of his convulsions and sobs.

Sam hunched his back, tucking his head against his forearms and braced against the floor, trying unsuccessfully to not breathe in the filth from the matted floor.

Throughout his breakdown, Gabriel never took her hand from his back. It kept him grounded, the sensation of touch.

Dean had been the first to care for him like this. He remembered a vicious fever from his childhood; one that left him chilled and soaked in sweat, crying because his body hurt, indescribable pain settled over him like a blanket. Dean had kept cold cloths to his forehead, children's Tylenol and chicken broth in his body, and a hand on his arm.

Throughout the entire night, Dean never once took his hand away, even while Sam slept. Waking to his big brother was a comfort he selfishly pulled to himself, hoarded away deep down inside, in a place the misery of childhood sickness couldn't penetrate.

Gabriel understood this need for contact. She didn't push, didn't demand anything from him, simply sat there, her hand rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades and along his spine as the sobs quieted, the nausea turned to a faint distaste, and the soul deep pain of betrayal faded into the memory.

When he tried to smother his hiccups, she pulled him to sit on the bed, pressing pills and cool water into his hand. He thankfully gulped them down, before stripping his shirt to wipe his face, tossing it weakly to the floor.

"Want to talk about it?"

He turned to her.

"I want it to go away," he whispered hoarsely. She gave him a small smile.

"I don't think it will, Sam. Your mind is trying to sort through Lucifer's memories. The best, the worst, the darkest and most depraved. It's yours now."

Sam twitched his finger over the machine stitches in the scratchy quilt thrown over his legs. He vaguely remembered a too-cheerful pastel pattern, though it's difficult to see in the more monochrome tones the night offers.

"Why now?" he whispered. "I'm assuming Lucifer left these in my head. Is my brain just now… sorting through them?"

Gabriel grabbed his hand, turning it palm up, before tracing the creases. Part of Sam knew he should push her away, but the part that needed her was growing bigger with each day, and the situation tasted of enough desperation that even Dean's voice in his head didn't have any worthwhile words to say when the archangel-turned-trickster came to him, her actions just a shade further than the line between friendly and interested.

"Michael cast me – him down because of… I can't call it a misunderstanding," he began, though he stopped and clenched her finger tight, halting its motions. "You already know all of this. Why do you want me to say it?"

"Because Lucifer's mind is the most violent place to be, and you're front and center in his pain."

He let go, tucking his hands under the quilt in a not-so-subtle 'fuck off'. "But why do you need me to _tell_ you this?"

"Because, you dumbass," she threw up her hands in exhaustion, stomping off the mattress and kicking the chair in frustration. "Lucifer's memories will _ruin you_ if you don't have help!"

She whirled on him. "You're already showing signs of it!"

He stiffened. "Signs of _what_?"

"You started cursing at Bobby today-"

"I always curse at Bobby!"

"In Enochian."

He bit back a retort, and visibly shrank back.

"Καταλαβαίνετε μου?" (Do you understand me?)

Sam blinked.

"ماذا عن الآن?" (What about now?)

"Yeah," he muttered. "I understand you."

Gabriel crossed her arms under her breasts. "Lucifer is older than the concept of time. You'll can quietly go insane inside his memories and never know the difference. We're trying to save the world, there isn't time for your insecurities."

He sucked in a breath. "Why can I speak Greek, and Arabic?"

"Because Lucifer can."

He tossed a shoulder helplessly. Gabriel took a step forward, allowing some of the tension to bleed out of her.

"But I've just got his memories-"

"Sam, this is more than _just memories_. If you've ever trusted me, for any reason, don't get stuck on the little details."

Silence crept over them again, and Sam sagged. Gabriel stepped onto the bed, seating herself next to him, and grabbing his hand once more.

"So, Michael misunderstood you?"

"Don't say that."

"Michael misunderstood Lucifer?"

She was tracing the creases in his palm like a reader. He shifted. "Don't you know this already?"

"No. I was never privy to Lucifer's thoughts, and Michael shut down shortly after. Raphael stopped caring right around the time Lucifer was cast down… and then I left."

"I think Lucifer would have asked forgiveness," Sam whispered. Gabriel dug a nail into his palm, before soothing the hurt with the pad of her finger. Sam suspected it was the shock of his revelation that broke her calm, but didn't dwell.

"He corrupted our Father's children, damned them from the womb."

"He stepped into the future. He saw humanity cursing Father – your Father, defying him, destroying His planet and each other in greed and selfishness. He wanted to stop it before it happened."

Gabriel laid her hand flat against his. "I wondered what changed. He was _so bitter_," her voice forced through clenched teeth, her fingertips pressing harshly into his. "We all were, everyone was bitter when humans came. Nobody understood why we should bow down to these creatures that were a step above shit-slinging primates, but Lucifer, he didn't explain why, didn't let it go. And then Michael just… that was it. They were both so stubborn, and Lucifer couldn't put his heart into fighting Michael. Michael couldn't kill him, and so he cast him down."

Sam allowed her to lace her fingers with his. The Dean voice in his head made a grossed out noise and promised to get separate motel rooms if Sam was going to bang his nasty trickster girlfriend.

"Then?"

"Then Lucifer created Hell. Or, he made it what it is. You were there. You looked like you do now. Maybe it was just my brain, trying to make sense."

Gabriel hummed.

"I guess Heaven is all your good memories. Hell was supposed to be all the terrible things people had done to others, the pain they inflicted on the people around them. I guess it makes sense. It's not like you're reverse-tortured into becoming an angel in Heaven, you're just… there. If Hell was what it was supposed to be, it would just be a bunch of bad people reliving the bad things they did to everyone else. But Lucifer went insane there, and that corrupted everything. After enough torture, demons were created."

"That is, at the most basic level, filtered through human understanding and then once again, watered down through human language, correct."

"Wow, you sure know how to give out compliments," Sam muttered.

Gabriel smacked the back of his hand with her free one. "I'm a master. Now, go back to sleep. I think I can keep you from dealing with any more of Lucifer's memories, even if it's just for the rest of the night."

Sam yawned, suddenly, giving her a searching look. The innocent raised eyebrows he received in return didn't go very far in making him think she wasn't pressing him into sleep, but after another yawn, he rolled his eyes and sank down into the bed, releasing her hand and curling up on his side.

His dreams left a faint taste of ocean water in his mouth.

* * *

><p>He sank into himself. This prison he called home was so removed from the denizens of Hell, and yet not far enough to not see them, the eternal torment they suffered. He railed against them, again and again, hating them, trying his hardest to destroy them.<p>

They responded to that aching blanket of disturbia, the foul stench of sulfur and brimstone that sank into their beings, as he once permeated the waters of Earth.

Disgust gave way to pity.

For the first time in ages, the beauty that had once been Lucifer peeked through what he had become. He watched the souls descend, some rightfully sent to the pit, their essences dark and hateful. But, even in this place, he could see the desolation they felt. A few, a small few of them, had tried so hard. Their souls shone just a bit brighter, a painful stabbing of desperation that broke through his rage like nothing else had.

The rest of Hell devoured those souls. Their lights lasted the longest, but when they faded from sight, it was swift and brutal. He watched the women, sometimes a few foul thoughts away from Heaven, raped with knives and sharpened utensils, blood gushing between their legs from internal perforations. They might be filthy monkeys, but he knew them, inside and out. He knew the men who had cheated and stolen their way through life, all to protect their children. They didn't know any other way, and though their hearts tried to be in the right places, they had fallen short, and fallen down. He knew the women who prostituted themselves, greedily sucking indiscriminately on the cocks of men for a dollar, only to go home to pay it all to a john who used their bodies for his own pleasures, leaving them to sleep in sheets soaked with sweat and semen.

There was a primal sense of glee watching the demons pounce on the man who had been named Hitler. Lucifer felt a pang as he saw, through the fallen dictator's mind, the countless lives he had exterminated. Hitler was never given the option of leaving the rack. It was too much poetic justice to allow any and all a chance to take one of the vilest men in history apart. Hitler was one of their bigger attractions, and demons traipsed the many circles of Hell, just to stand in line for a century for their turn at him.

Lucifer might have hated these creatures, but through their minds, he saw the world as it had become. Dirty, the land raped of its natural beauty, oceans turned to muck as pollutants churned through them, the air barely breathable because of the noxious gasses poured into it by uncaring machines. Some of them deserved this.

Watching the brighter ones, though, he wondered if they all deserved it. Maybe some of them should have been given a second shot at life, perhaps different circumstances would have tipped the scales more definitively in either direction.

Lucifer understood, in a primal way, that this was his fault. This place had begun with his own hard feelings, and the corruption spread. He didn't know if it had taken on a life of its own yet.

He curled into a ball, desperately trying to reign in his emotions, the ripples spreading outwards from his grace. He had little hope that it would work, but anything to make this place a shade less desolate would be welcome. It was to the memory of those brightest souls he clung, keeping the shape of them in his minds' eye, reminding him of just why he was doing this.

It crashed on him like waves, gasping in pain as he pulled it all into himself, grabbing greedily at the ribbons, tucking them deep within, balling it all up and using bloody hands to shove it down, tuck it away where nobody would have to look at it.

Hell was quiet, for the smallest moment. Lucifer had pulled it all into his own grace, tucked all the pain and misery away, and it _burned_. It tore at him, shredding pieces indiscriminately. He clutched at his reasons, desperately trying to remain strong, to hold on.

It rolled, boiled, and the lid he was tightly holding on the pressure cooker within himself shot off. The last bits of sanity within him burned away, and with it, the violence exploded outwards once more.

Lucifer unwillingly gave up the last that had remained of the archangel, let it slip from his hands, and was lost. Hell marched on, the screams rose once more, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin, reveling in the pain.

This was _his_.

Sam woke up, a sob caught in his throat, as he desperately clawed at his chest. Strong hands held at his, trying to stop the destruction.

Gabriel nearly crushed the bones of his wrist as she held on, already railing at the strength that was spiraling out of control, beyond _her_ control.

"Sam!" she shouted, lightly slapping him, hoping to knock some sense through his memory-induced mania. She pressed into his hips with her knees, trying to stop him from bucking her off. "Sam, come on, you're awake now, you're okay, you gotta calm down," she said, over and over. Animal noises were escaping his throat, his head tossing from side to side as she pressed his wrists on either side of his face, using her supernatural strength to press him into the mattress.

Slowly, his movements stilled, though it took minutes for his ragged breathing to even out. The whimpers still ghosted against her face, but she didn't pull back.

Sam's eyes met hers. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice as broken as it had been that day on the road, surrounded by strangers, racing towards the one place he hoped his brother would be.

"Because you need someone," she murmured, letting go of his limbs and sinking back. Her position over his pelvis would've given her reason to waggle her eyebrows, once, but now it was simply a comfortable spot. She braced herself on her thighs. "I was waiting for Lucifer's memories to tear you apart. It was impossible, that he would reside in your head, and not leave pieces of himself behind."

"I don't understand why now, why all of a sudden, this is happening."

"I don't know, either." Gabriel shifted. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

As she shifted, devious actions far from her mind, his body gave a slight stirring of interest, and the breath punched out of his lips.

"Gabriel-"

"Is it really so bad? I'm asking for nothing in return – no blood, no promises, nothing but this."

She stared at his lips, shifting once more, before slowly lifting her hands, tugging the sheet down and laying her hands on his chest.

Sam's internal war flashed across his face, and Gabriel patiently waited, leaning her weight on the places where her palms met flesh. She waited, with a snap, in case Sam chose the path she wanted.

He finally brought a hand up to her neck, bringing their lips together in an aching kiss, and she snapped, sound proofing the walls. Gabriel let go of her restraint, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue, until she could explore the heat within. A sound left her lips, pained and wanting, an eternity built up into that moment when he was finally hers to touch and taste and explore. Sam brought his other hand to the small of her back, molding her to him as she wrapped her arms under his shoulders and held on tight as they fought for dominance in the kiss.

It was like the floodgates had opened. Their casual flirting and denied touches culminated in a frenzy of heat and desire, tongues meeting and dueling and tasting, teeth biting, pressing the limit of _too much_, finding out just what it was that would tear the other to pieces.

Gabriel was the first to make Sam cry out when she pinched a nipple, swallowing the noise greedily, squeezing once more and rolling her fingertips to feel his hips buck underneath her as he cried out again. He bit her bottom lip in retaliation, and slipped his hands under her skirt, into the panties, squeezing the cheeks of her bottom, pressing her down into his hardness, thrusting up into her warmth. Her voice rose to match his, hips undulating, trying to feel him through layers of cloth.

He deftly flipped them, fitting himself on his knees between her thighs, rough hands yanking her clothes off, fingertips ghosting over her flesh, unable to settle on any one location. He skimmed them up her ribs, pupils dilated as he watched her body writhe. Her waist made her squirm, almost ticklish, while her shoulders made her sigh. A kiss, a slight swipe of tongue to the inside of her elbow, then wrist, and she almost _purred_.

He braced one hand across her hip, the other slipping under her head to tug at the hair there, baring her neck to his lips.

There would be bruises there in the morning, if she let them remain, as he bit and sucked marks across her neck and collarbone.

"Sam," she cried, "please."

"We'll get there," he responded, "I've got you, Gabriel," his voice was rough with need, meeting her gaze through lowered eyelashes as his mouth lowered to feast on her breasts. One hand dropped to the apex of her thighs, as he drew the pebbled flesh into his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive tip as his teeth lightly scraped around the outside, and she let out a muffled shriek as his thumb rubbed her clit, two fingers slipping easily into her warmth. It was a sensory overload, and Gabriel bucked up, hands scrabbling over his back, yanking on his hair, pulling him up to her mouth. "Sam, Sam, Sam," his name was a chant on her tongue, each time a bit more wrecked, a bit less control, until she sobbed it out into his mouth.

His length pressed against her thigh, and it took all of Gabriel's concentration to retain enough mental faculty to reach down as his mouth ravished hers, devouring and possessing, to wrap her hand around his cock. She stroked once, twice, before desperately guiding him towards her heat. His fingers slipped out of her, before he pressed his head where they had just been, and paused.

"Sam, please," she begged again, pressing her hips up, trying to force him into her, but he simply raked his eyes over her form. "Come on, Sam, I need you, come _on!_"

"All yours," he ground out. His lips crashed to hers as he thrust in, bottoming out in one harsh stroke. Gabriel shrieked into his mouth, nails digging into his back as he withdrew to thrust in again. His hips slapped her thighs, his arms holding her shoulders into place as he pressed in, over and over, straining to bury himself as deep as his body would allow.

Gabriel was beyond rational thought. Sam was hitting the ache inside of her, each stroke bottoming out into a spike of pain and pleasure, her body arching into his, her thighs spread as wide as they could go, giving him as much room as possible.

She clutched him tighter, lips touching as they shared the same air, unable to do more than breathe together. He swallowed her whimpers, while she clung greedily to the groans forced from within, beyond his control.

"Sam, more, fuck, harder," she cried hoarsely, her voice wrecked as his thrusts sped up. The sound of their hips slapping wetly permeated the room, and Gabriel clung to him as tightly as she could while he changed the angle of his movements, tipping her legs up over his arms, and threw himself into her once more.

"Just like that?" he muttered as she cried out, over and over, his voice rising to match hers. "You like that? My cock all the way inside you, owning you, you're mine, come on Gabriel, I want to hear you scream my name." His voice rushed over her, his thumb flicking over her clit once more. Gabriel felt her pussy clench down on him, orgasm rocking through her as his name passed her lips on a shout, over and over.

He thrust through her tightness, his strokes more and more erratic until he finally pressed back in one more time, crying out her name into her mouth.

His body slowed down, her legs falling bonelessly to the mattress, as he struggled to keep from collapsing on her. She wrapped her arms languidly around him, tugging him down, until his weight pressed her into the mattress, chests pressed together and heaving.

Air rushed past her ears as he panted, and she quietly snapped them dry, assuming Sam wouldn't appreciate the feeling of sex and sweat drying on his skin.

"Why did I wait so long to do that?" he muttered into the space between her neck and shoulders, nose turned gently into the space beneath her ear. She just hummed, calming her racing heart. "Do you still want to know what I dreamed?"

She hesitated, then nodded, and clamped down her limbs like a vice to keep him from crawling away. Sam gave a quiet laugh as he struggled to back up enough to look her in the eye.

"Lucifer tried to fix Hell."

She was glad she held him tightly, so that the clenching of her muscles was barely discernible from her already tense position.

"He realized it was his anger that had sort of started the ball rolling, and had corrupted it. I guess in his last moments of sanity, he felt pity for the souls he didn't think belonged there. I mean, pity for the ones that, under slightly different circumstances and a few different choices, could've gone to Heaven. He took it all into himself, all that madness and… everything that made Hell what it was, he sucked it inside, tried to bury it down, and that was it. Everything went out of control, and I think he lost what was left of his mind."

Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, giving him a watery smile.

"Is this news, to you?"

"Yes." Gabriel relaxed, cradling her thighs around his hips, as she absently ran a hand through his hair. "I had so little time with Lucifer, it felt like. The Earth was around for a long time before humans came along, but in the scheme of things, Lucifer fell so soon. Until the day he shanked me, I hadn't seen or heard from him."

"Do you think it's possible for your Father to forgive him?" Sam's voice was hesitant, and he leaned back further, watching the emotions flickering across her face. He didn't understand her well enough to discern them all, but he needed to see it anyway.

"Yes. My father's forgiveness is infinite. Even Lucifer can be redeemed."

Sam sank back down onto her, waiting while she wiggled, kicking and pulling sheets over his back. "I think Lucifer will get his chance for forgiveness," she said tentatively.

"Even though he's lost his mind?"

Gabriel shrugged. "If he's sincere, my father will let him come home."

Sam shifted, finally rolling off her, wrapping an arm around her waist, tugging her against him.

He wanted to say, "You're more affectionate as a woman," or maybe "You weren't this affectionate before Lucifer," but he kept it in, inhaling the fruity scent of her hair, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Gabriel laid a hand over his arm, his mind having slipped into slumber, and briefly prayed to her Father. Sam was handling the assimilation of Lucifer's memories well enough, but she knew the worst was to come. She hoped he would forgive her for withholding the truth.<p> 


End file.
